


all our friends want us to fall in love

by phichithamsters



Series: The Art of Persistence [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A sprinkling of crack, Accidental Love Confessions, Actual ice skating, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Because I love tropes, Blow Jobs, Coming Out, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Long-Distance Friendship, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Post-Canon, Skype, minor homophobia, otayuri - Freeform, religious metaphors used for sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-07-24 19:00:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20019445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phichithamsters/pseuds/phichithamsters
Summary: “What comes next for the two of you?”This question— asked by a reporter after Yuri’s explosive Welcome to the Madness performance— has plagued Otabek for the past year. Otabek moves to America, trains hard, and wrestles with his feelings for Yuri who now lies an ocean away. When Yuri travels to the US for Skate America, it’s the closest the two have been in months, and Otabek’s carefully buried feelings begin to resurface. Everyone else seems to know that Otabek and Yuri are in love... It’s only a matter if Otabek is brave enough to do something about it.—Chapters 10 & 11: Even though Otabek feels numb and his vision is swimming, Celestino’s words also ground him. It makes him more sure of his decision to come out to the public, and, most importantly, stop hiding his relationship with Yuri. Yuri means too much to him to continue to hide him away like a secret he's ashamed of.Otabek is not ashamed of who he is.





	1. I Love You in the Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rare time that Otabek and Yuri got to spend together, just the two of them separated by a screen, was precious. For Otabek, it was his favorite part of the day. And he had just an hour and a half more to wait.

Otabek checked his phone. There was one new message from Yuri, and the clock on his lock screen read 3:15pm. Without thinking about it, Otabek calculated the current time in St. Petersburg. _10:15pm_ , he thought, making a mental note. He opened the message. _Yuri just got back from his practice with Lilya, so he’ll probably be headed to bed soon._

Again, another automatic calculation. _8 more hours._

Otabek put down his phone and brought himself back to his current surroundings. He was sitting on the bench just outside of the rink of the Detroit Skating club. He grabbed his water bottle and took a drink, trying to make the most of his break. In front of him, Phichit drifted around the ice, marking through a new program he was in the midst of choreographing. Celestino watched carefully from the side, taking notes in a small notebook. Otabek watched Phichit skate over to Celestino and begin to talk animatedly to the man. Celestino nodded and Phichit skated away.

“Oy, Beka!” Celestino yelled, not looking up from his writing. Otabek winced at the nickname.

“Phichit is going to run through his program with music and then you’re up. We’re going to drill your footwork sequence for your short program next.”

Otabek nodded in reply, even though he knew his coach wasn’t looking.

“I’m excited to see what you’ve been working on, Beka!” Phichit called from the ice, smiling and waving. Otabek grinned back meekly. 

_Great,_ he thought to himself, sighing. _Now Phichit is calling me by this stupid nickname._

Otabek placed his phone back into his bag and stood up as Phichit’s program music began to play. It had been nine months since the Grand Prix finals, nine months since Yuri became the youngest person to ever win the Grand Prix, nine months since Yuri’s fiery exhibition skate, and, most importantly nine months since he shared his first kiss with Yuri Plisetsky. 

Other than Yuri, the rest of the season had been quite disappointing for Otabek. He had risen up quickly as the skating world’s “dark horse,” but after the Grand Prix series he suffered a string of losses similar to Yuuri Katsuki’s 2015 season, barely missing the podium in the Kazakhstan Figure Skating Championships, and missing the cutoff scores Worlds that year (the same event which he took silver in the year before). 

After a lot of thought, midnight runs when he couldn’t sleep, and uncomfortable conversations with both his coach and his sponsors, he decided to continue his training in Detroit, MI: the very same skate club where Yuuri and Phichit had first met. It was hard to leave Kazakhstan and his family so soon after his return, but Otabek knew that he needed more than his home rink in Almaty could give him. Phichit had similar aspirations, and so it turned out that the two of them ended up in Detroit together, training under Phichit’s long-time coach Celestino Cialdini.

Otabek took another drink of water before stretching his legs and stepping back onto the ice. Phichit skated to the side of the rink to continue his choreography, and now Otabek had Celestino’s full attention. 

“Alright, we’re going to run this sequence a few more times, and then I want you to cool down before you do your workout. I posted today’s set on the wall in the gym, and you should be out of there by 6,” Celestino said. Otabek nodded.

“So my biggest concern this morning was the size of your steps. You’re getting behind in the music because you are taking longer strides in the middle of the sequence and it’s slowing you down. Also, remember to hold the toe balance for two whole counts. You keep falling out of it early and it looks sloppy,” Celestino paused, looking over his notes. “And… that’s what I want you to focus on right now,” he finished, snapping his notebook closed. Otabek skated away from the wall, replaying Celestino’s notes in his mind. 

“Alright, I’ll count you in,” Celestino said, beginning to clap his hands rhythmically. “Five, six, seven, eight!”

Otabek took off.

—

He collapsed on the mat, breathing hard. Otabek rolled over and picked himself up, his muscles screaming. Sore as he was, he had finished the workout for today, and that meant he was able to go home and relax. He limped over to his phone.

The numbers on the screen read 7:33pm. _Damn,_ he silently cursed his coach. _One hour workout my ass._ Otabek made his way over to the locker room, where he showered and changed into his civilian clothes. His shoulders ached with a familiar pain as he slipped on his leather jacket. That pain meant he worked hard today— which he was proud of— but it also meant that he would be sore as hell tomorrow. Otabek grabbed his helmet, trying to smooth out his hair in the mirror as best as he could before walking outside. 

He opened the front door without looking and accidentally smacked Phichit in the face. Phichit was so startled that he fell backwards, splaying out on the sidewalk.

“Phichit!” Otabek exclaimed, helping him to his feet. “I’m so sorry for hitting you.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, smiling weakly. “I wasn’t paying attention. I just finished my run for the day and I can’t really feel my legs.”

“How much did Coach have you run today?” he asked as Phichit shook out his legs.

“Um… I think in total it was about 10k…” Phichit laughed feebly. 

“Hm, and I was feeling sorry for myself after a two and a half hour weights set…” Otabek reached up to scratch the back of his head, trying not to show his embarrassment. “I didn’t peg Celestino as a fan of corporal punishment.” 

“Ah, you’ll see that the tough guy persona is just an act,” Phichit said, dismissing Otabek’s comment with his hand. “Ciao-Ciao can be a demanding coach, but when you get to know him, you’ll find out that he’s really just a big softie,” he grinned.

Otabek grunted, rolling his eyes to show Phichit how much he believed him. Phichit just laughed in response.

“Alrighty, well I’m going to go commemorate this run with a post on instagram, and then shower so I can eat. I’m starving!” Phichit said happily, stretching his arms. “Speaking of which, Beka, do you want to come over for dinner tonight? We haven’t hung out at all since you moved to Detroit!!”

“I can’t tonight,” Otabek answered bluntly. He was tired and his social meter was clocked out for the day. Phichit’s face fell slightly. 

“You know, you can’t make friends by blowing everyone off,” Phichit teased. “But I get it, you need to maintain your aura of mystery.” 

Phichit sighed and waved his arms dramatically. 

“Mark my words, one of these days I will wear you down, Otabek Altin! See you tomorrow!” Phichit smiled at him, and turned to head inside the building. 

Otabek waved at Phichit as he walked away. Before Phichit was even fully inside, Otabek had mounted his bike and was speeding away.

—

Otabek fumbled with the front door, struggling to turn the lock with his arms full of paper bags. His personal philosophy was “two trips are for pussies,” so there was no way in hell he was going to let this trip to the grocery store defeat him. He managed to unbolt the door, and nudged the door open with one foot before stumbling into his apartment, dropping his bags unceremoniously onto the counter. He took off his shoes and peered into the hallway, looking both ways to make sure no one witnessed his blunder, and then shut the door.

Otabek took off his leather jacket, wincing as his shoulder protested. He grabbed his phone from the jacket pocket and checked the time. _9:30pm._ That meant he had an hour and a half before Yuri woke up and called him. He quickly texted Yuri that he had arrived home before beginning to put away the groceries that were strewn haphazardly across his counter.

Ever since the Grand Prix Finals, Yuri and Otabek had not stopped talking. They texted during the hours that they were both awake, and tried to make time to video chat once a day. Since St. Petersburg was seven hours ahead of Detroit, they had figured out that the best time to talk would when Yuri woke up in the morning, right before Otabek went to bed at night. Yuri woke up at 6:00am every day and had to be at practice by 7:00am, so every morning he spent an hour talking to Otabek as he got ready. The two had perfected this routine over the months, maximizing the amount of time they got to talk to each other each day. Sometimes, Yuri would take a different bus so he could talk to Otabek longer, even if it meant arriving late to practice. Other times, Otabek fought off sleep for a few extra minutes so he could stay on the phone. The two of them were so busy with training during the day that they weren’t able to keep up a regular conversation between the practices, workouts, meetings, fittings, publicity events, and (for Yuri) schoolwork. The rare time that they got to spend together, just the two of them separated by a screen, was precious. For Otabek, it was his favorite part of the day.

And he had just an hour and a half more to wait. 

—

He got the call when he was in the bathroom. 

Otabek heard his laptop begin to chime with the familiar ringtone of an incoming skype call, and then his laptop quickly followed suit until his empty apartment was filled with the sound of electronic bells. He buttoned his pants, washed his hands— as quickly as possible while trying to maintain a sense of hygiene— and ran to his kitchen counter to answer the call. 

“G’morning, Otabek,” Yuri yawned. He was still in bed, half-awake, his blonde hair swept over his face. Yuri’s laptop was open beside him, so from Otabek’s point of view it looked like he was laying right next to Yuri; the very sight made Otabek soften instantly. Yuri’s beloved cat Potya was curled up next to him, and he had his blankets pulled up just beneath his eyes, trying to block out the first rays of sun that peeked through his blinds. 

Yuri was definitely not a morning person. He usually called Otabek the moment his alarm went off at 6am, because, for one, talking to Otabek ensured that he wouldn’t fall back asleep. 

“Good morning, Yuri,” Otabek replied with a small smile. “Hold on, give me a second to move to my bedroom.” 

Yuri simply gave a thumbs up in response, his eyes still closed. Otabek picked up his laptop, flicking off the bathroom light and walking into his room. He sat down on the bed and placed the computer in front of him.

“Okay, I’m situated. Now you have to get up,” Otabek said. 

No response. Otabek tapped the screen like a fish tank.

“Yuri, are you alive?” He asked loudly.

Yuri opened one eye, glaring at Otabek.

“Your fly is undone,” he grunted, sitting up abruptly and throwing back the covers. Potya jumped up with an annoyed meow. 

Otabek blushed.

“I was in the bathroom when you called. Thanks for the head’s up, by the way,” he mumbled, quickly zipping up his pants.

“You have a clock, dumbass. Plus, you know what time I call,” Yuri rolled his eyes and stretched his arms.

“Hmph,” Otabek paused. “Besides, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

Now it was Yuri’s turn to blush, and he quickly scooted off his bed and off camera. Otabek was proud of himself for the quick comeback, and for successfully getting Yuri out of bed.

“So, how are you?” Yuri’s voice called from somewhere offscreen.

“Sore,” Otabek said truthfully. The pain in his shoulders had migrated to his back and hadn’t subsided, even with a healthy dose of Advil and a heating pad cranked to High. 

“What did Celestino have you do today?” Yuri popped back on screen, wearing a pair of white joggers and no shirt. “Couldn’t be worse than the shit Yakov has me doing lately,” he muttered under his breath. Otabek frowned.

“Today, I had two and a half hours of weights _after_ practice. And he made Phichit do a 10k,” Otabek said, crossing his arms. The arm movement, however, caused a sharp pain in his shoulder, which made him flinch. Yuri chuckled.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Otabek chided, rolling his arm to try to stretch out his shoulder. “I’m in pain.” 

“I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing with you,” Yuri teased. “Besides, Phichit is the one who ran 10 kilometers while your lazy ass sat in an air conditioned gym.”

Otabek meerly grunted in reply. Yuri had a point.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom,” Yuri said, already walking away from the camera. He picked up his cat and sat him down in front of his computer screen.

“Potya, keep Otabek company for a few minutes,” Yuri told her, gently pushing her into a seated position in front of Otabek. The two stared at each other for a moment, unblinking. Otabek heard the water turn on from the bathroom that was connected to Yuri’s bedroom.

“Potya, I’m sorry you have to share Yuri now,” Otabek told the cat.

Potya tilted her head and flicked her ears, watching Otabek intently. 

“I’m sorry, do you only speak Russian? _Privet, Potya?_ ” Otabek asked, feeling slightly silly for talking to Potya over the phone. Potya, on the other hand, gave no response that she heard Otabek. She began to lick her paw and clean her face. Otabek sighed.

“Meow?” he tried, scrunching his nose. Potya stopped cleaning and stared at the screen with big eyes. 

“Mrrp… meow,” she responded. Otabek’s eyes widened in disbelief. What the hell did he just say to her? He tried making more cat noises at the screen, and to his surprise Potya chirped back at each of them. Otabek had no idea what was being communicated, but he was trying his best to apologize for the neglect that Potya sometimes faced when Yuri would ignore her to talk to him. 

Yuri had finished brushing his teeth when he heard Potya meowing at his laptop. Annoyed, he had turned to snapped at her, when he saw Otabek meowing _. Back_ . 

_Oh my god. They are having a conversation._ Yuri almost fainted; it was all too fucking cute for him. Not wanting to end the moment or embarass Otabek, Yuri turned back around to brush his hair. 

“Potya, you better not be telling Otabek all of my secrets,” Yuri warned from the bathroom. 

“What secrets?” Otabek scoffed. “I’ll have you know she was complaining that you don’t give her enough attention.”

Otabek turned his attention back to the cat.

“Potya, what secrets has Yuri been hiding?” Otbaek teased, loud enough for Yuri to hear.

Yuri leapt back onto the bed, startling both his cat and Otabek. For someone who was reluctant to get out of bed a mere five minutes ago, Yuri had plenty of energy now. He quickly scooped up Potya before she could run away and pressed his face into her fur, giving her lots of kisses.

“I’m sorry, Potya,” he cooed, holding her up in front of him like Simba from the lion king. “I promise I’ll hang out with you more this weekend!”

Potya jumped out of Yuri’s arms and indignantly began to smooth out her ruffled fur.

“Aren’t you traveling to the US this weekend for the Skate America?” Otabek asked, trying not to sound overly excited that he and Yuri would be on the same continent again.

“Oh, that’s right,” Yuri frowned at his cat, who was already stalking away. “Soon, my dear! We will be together once more!” he called after her, dramatically reaching his hand out in her direction. 

_That’s ironic,_ thought Otabek. Yuri turned his attention back to his computer.

“So, about these secrets Potya is supposedly harboring?” Otabek asked nonchalantly.

“Ugh, I was just joking. She probably doesn’t even know who ‘Yuri’ is. People in Russia call me Yuratchka because my grandfather calls me that. I also get called Yura, so that’s how she recognizes me,” Yuri said dismissively.

“Yura…,” Otabek paused thoughtfully. He liked the way the Yuri’s new name felt on his tongue. “I like the way that sounds on you. Do you mind if I call you that?”

Yuri melted when he heard Otabek call him by his grandfather’s nickname. He liked the way Otabek pronounced it; he held it gently in his mouth, almost like it was sacred. That one word filled his room, and Yuri could feel the low rumbling of Otabek’s voice from across the Atlantic ocean.

“You can do whatever you want,” Yuri mumbled, blushing. He shook his head slightly to regain his composure.

“Hey, I can’t be the only one with a nickname,” he jabbed his finger at Otabek. “What am I going to call you?”

“I don’t really have any nicknames…” Otabek trailed off. All his life, he had always gone by Otabek, or, on rare occasions, his coaches would call him Altin.

“Come on, there’s got to be something. I can’t keep calling you Otabek. Too many syllables,” Yuri complained. “Plus, ‘Otabek’ sounds like the name of a great Kazakh lord, which you _definitely_ are not.”

“I might be a lord. Who said I’m not?” Otabek responded, cooly.

“Come _on,_ Otabek. Don’t make me think up a shitty nickname for you myself. Like, uhhh… Oat.” Yuri laughed loudly. “Ooh, or…. Altabek? No, that’s the same number of syllables…”

Yuri continued butcher Otabek’s name in different ways and with varying degrees of success until, finally, Otabek couldn’t take it.

“Fine! Just stop, please. Christ, I didn’t realize one person could be so bad at coming up with nicknames.” 

Otabek ran his fingers through his hair, thinking hard.

“Uh… Celestino… he calls me ‘Beka,’ and so does Phichit,” Otabek started. “I’m not sure if I love it—” 

He was cut off by an excited yelp.

“Beka! Beka…” Yuri paused. “It suits you. I’m going to change your contact to Beka right now.” Yuri laughed again, but this time it was warm and friendly. Otabek watched as he pulled out his phone and started typing. Otabek was surprised. On Yuri’s lips, the nickname he once despised sounded kind and inviting, softer than the way that Celestino said it. In other words, he didn’t mind when Yuri said it; in fact, he might have said he even liked it. Yuri interrupted his train of thought.

“I think I’ll take the 318 today,” Yuri said nonchalantly, continuing to scroll through his phone.

“You can’t keep showing up late to practice, Yura,” Otabek responded with a slight tone of reprimand. 

“Ugh, don’t say ‘Yura’ in that tone of voice, _Beka._ You sound just like my grandpa,” He looked up from his phone rolled his eyes. “Plus, I’m the fucking Grand Prix Champion. I can do whatever I want.”

“When are you going to stop using that as an excuse?” Otabek asked with a smirk. Yuri scoffed.

“When someone beats me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This is my second multi-chapter fic, but it's much larger than my first. It's mostly finished, with all of the chapters written except for the last few which are all planned out. I'm hoping to update this weekly, on Sundays, so look out for Chapter 2 next week.
> 
> Notes:  
> -The skype scene was inspired by this [tumblr post.](https://icetiiger.tumblr.com/post/166560799511/inktober-17-18-long-distance-skype-calls-first)  
> -The title of this chapter is a lyric from Vance Joy's song "Call Me if You Need Me"  
> -The title of this work from Panic! At The Disco's song "The Good, The Bad, and The Dirty" (I love P!ATD so you will be seeing a lot of references to them in this fic)


	2. Golden Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Yuri's plane flew slowly over the Atlantic Ocean, chasing the setting sun, he couldn’t help but feel like he was traveling towards home.

Yuri walked into the rink at 7:02am. Yakov and Lilya were talking quietly when he approached, and when Yakov saw him he scowled.

“Yuri Plisetsky, you’re late,” he scolded. Yuri threw down his bag and began to lace up his skates without a word. He knew he was in trouble, and Yakov would work him extra hard today as punishment. Not to mention Skate America was only five days away…

“Skate America is in five days, Yura,” Yakov said, echoing his thoughts. “Your short program still needs work, so if you continue to come in late, I’m going to change your quads to triples.” 

Yuri mumbled a quick apology and stepped onto the ice. Yakov glared at him. 

“Lilya wants extra time for some strength training today, so after this, head over to her studio. Also, don’t forget that you have your final fitting for your short program costume today at 1pm. Oi, Yuri, are you paying attention to me?” Yakov snapped his fingers in Yuri’s face.

Yuri, who had been zoning out, flinched when Yakov snapped and simply nodded in response. 

“No attitude today, huh? Well, I hope you remove your head from your ass and focus on your technique. You’ve been sloppy the last few practices, Yura, and I’m worried about how well you’ll do in Skate America,” Yakov said.

Yuri narrowed his eyes and glared at his coach.

“I’m fine, Yakov. There’s no way I won’t win Skate America. Matter of fact, I’ll sweep the entire fucking competition,” Yuri retorted. “I’ll start by running my jumps and then go through the short program. _Tch._ You doubt me? I’ll show you, Yakov.”

Yakov smiled to himself as Yuri sped away from the wall and began to practice his jump combinations. He always knew the right things to say to motivate his students.

—

Five days later, Yuri was on a plane to Chicago, Illinois for Skate America, the first competition of the Grand Prix Series. Yuri’s theme for the series this year was Golden, which symbolized his young age (from one of his favorite books, _The Outsiders_ : “Stay gold, Pony Boy”) and massive success, as well as how he hoped to achieve the same success as the last season, when he set a world record and became the youngest male skater to win the Grand Prix Series. His theme also sent a message to other skaters that he planned to stay at the top, because Yuri was cheeky and full of himself. 

His free skate costume was a gold unitard with long, flowy sleeves, ornately decorated with sparkling rhinestones. For his short program, he had chosen a light blue suit tuxedo with gold detailing that made him look downright princely. Yakov thought that maybe Yuri was being too heavy-handed with his theme, but Yuri’s stubbornness and flair for the dramatic had won over Yakov’s reason. Yuri had, however, given up his crusade when it came to wearing a crown during both of his programs. This was partly because it was tacky, partly because Yakov pointed out that wearing a crown would encroach on JJ’s style, who also was going to be competing at Skate America. Yuri almost vomited in his mouth when Yakov told him that, and afterwards he dropped the issue altogether.

As Yuri sat on the plane, staring out the window at the seemingly endless ocean, he tried to focus on the event at hand. Yakov snored softly in the seat next to him, and even though Yuri knew he needed to rest too, his body wouldn’t let him fall asleep. It was something about the anticipation of his first competition of the season, as well as the excitement of being so near to Otabek, physically closer to him than he had been in almost a year. He had looked up the distance from Chicago to Detroit before he left, and to his disappointment, cities were not as close together in America as they were in Europe. Originally, Yuri had thought that if he could slip away sometime during the weekend, he could drive to visit Otabek for even just a few minutes… but upon learning that the two cities were a good five hours apart by car, his plans had been crushed before he even had a chance to bring it up. 

But now, as his plane flew slowly over the Atlantic Ocean, chasing the setting sun, Yuri couldn’t help but feel like he was traveling towards home. _Even though I can’t see Beka,_ Yuri thought to himself, _I’m just happy to be in the same time zone as him._

Well, almost, he corrected himself with a small smile; Chicago was an hour behind Detroit. He had looked that up too.

Even with his reassurance, Yuri still felt uneasy. Later, he would come to understand it as a feeling of longing, and that would explain many of the decisions he made later that weekend. In the meantime, Yuri sat, staring out the window as the sun dipped below some clouds on the horizon and the sky began to fade into a stunning gradient of orange to pink to purple to deep blue. The moon was rising behind him and Yuri could see the faint outline of the American coast in the distance. He took a snapchat of the view and saved it to send to Otabek when they landed. 

Yuri rest his head against the window, and closed his eyes, waiting for a sleep that would never come. 

—

Otabek checked his phone. The last message from Yuri read “ _just boarded the plane for london and yakov is already sleeping. wtf,”_ and the numbers on his screen told him it was 11:10pm. He wanted to stay up and wait for Yuri to land because Yuri promised he would call when he checked in to his hotel. It was early for most teenagers, but since Otabek had woken up at 5:30am that morning, he already felt himself drifting off. 

Otabek got up and started to walk around his apartment to try to keep himself awake. When that didn’t work, he made himself a cup of tea and sat down in front of the tea and tried to watch some of the pre-event coverage for Skate America. Some of the reporters were broadcasting from O’Hare International Airport, hoping to interview skaters the minute they got off the plane. A few minutes later, Otabek got a text from Yuri.

11:21pm **_just landed. didn’t sleep at all and now im fucking exhausted._**

Otabek texted back an empathetic _that sucks_ , adding a frowny face at the end before sending. 

11:22pm **_btw, reporters in the airport in terminal 5. They already caught Christophe but i think u could use it as a distraction._**

Yuri texted back immediately.

11:22pm **_fuck those reporters. Im too tired for this shit._ **

Otabek felt for Yuri. He knew the feeling of getting off of an international flight, sore, tired, and grouchy, just to be mobbed with reporters who wanted a picture or a quote. Maybe, Otabek thought to himself, he should stop watching and giving the news outlets viewership to show that he didn’t condone the behavior of the reporters. But then again, Christophe had started to interpretive dance his short program in the middle of the gate, so he reasoned that he could watch for a little while longer. His phone chimed again with another message from Yuri.

11:39pm **_ok, getting off the plane now_**

11:39pm **_gonna be a ninja and get to the hotel without being spotted_**

11:40pm **_text you when I check in_**

Otabek responded with a thumbs up. A minute later, a snapchat arrived from Yuri. He opened the message and a stunning sunset filled his screen, the sun barely visible above the clouds as evening turned to twilight. In the distance, he could see the coastline of what he assumed was North America. The caption read “ _second best thing about America_ ” and then, under it, “ _(coming for you)_ ”. Otabek smiled and took a screenshot. He took a video of Christophe on TV, who was now twerking on a row of chairs and sent back to Yuri, who he knew would appreciate the content very much. 

Otabek settled back into his couch and channel surfed for a while before he put on an episode of Diners, Drive Ins, and Dives that he had already seen before and started scrolling Instagram. (Otabek’s secret fascination with Guy Fieri had started when he first arrived in America, when Phichit showed him a video of “this crazy guy with frosted tips who eats the world’s biggest burger,” and, claiming to be researching “American culture,” Otabek accidentally watched three seasons of the man’s show on his day off. It was a dark, shameful secret that Otabek would never reveal to anyone, not even Yuri. But other than that, it had no significance to his life.)

45 minutes later, a little past midnight, Otabek’s phone rang with an incoming facetime from Yuri. Otabek yawned as he answered. 

“You have the audacity to yawn right now? I am so fucking tired and I just outran a mob of reporters,” Yuri said, in leiu of a greeitng, and flopped down on his bed. He was in his hotel room, having checked in and left Yakov for the night. Otabek could see his suitcase in the corner, already open and spilling clothes onto the floor. 

“Hello to you too, Yura,” Otabek said, watching Yuri blush slightly at the nickname he loved but still wasn’t used to hearing. “Am I not allowed to be tired?”

Yuri scoffed and rolled over onto his back, holding the phone above him. His hair was spread out on the pillow behind him, cut shorter than normal for the competition season. Even though Yuri was sweaty and had dark circles under his eyes and probably smelled like stale airplane air, the image of him still made Otabek’s breath catch in his throat.

“I didn’t mean it like that, dumbass,” he snapped, and then caught himself. “Sorry, Beka, I’m really grumpy from the travel. I’ll try not to take it out on you.”

“I appreciate that, but it’s fine. I, of all people, understand how draining days like this can be. Hold on one second, I’m gonna change for bed.”

Otabek set the phone down on his nightstand and took off his shirt, swapping out his jeans for a pair of grey sweatpants. Yuri caught a glance of Otabek’s shirtless back in side of the camera, and he made an _ooOOoooOoo_ noise that was supposed to be seductive, while wiggling his eyebrows. Otabek leaned back into the frame, narrowing his eyes at Yuri.

“Please never make that sound ever again as long as you live.”

Yuri burst out laughing and Otabek threw his dirty clothes into his hamper before picking up the phone again. He made a face at Yuri and then crawled onto the bed, laying on his side and propping his phone up next to him. He yawned again.

“Ooh, is it bedtime?” Yuri asked excitedly, wiggling under his sheets and pulling up the hotel comforter up to his face. He looked immensely cute, snuggled up under the fluffy duvet with his blond hair falling into his face. Otabek smiled warmly at him.

“It’s kind of cool that we’re actually able to facetime at the same time. Like, we’re both going to bed instead of one of us running out the door and the other one struggling to stay awake,” he said softly.

“To be fair, we’re still struggling to stay awake,” Yuri said, yawning. “But yeah, it’s nice to talk to you and not feel so… rushed.” 

Otabek nodded. 

“So, how are you feeling about your programs?” he asked, shifting slightly to get more comfortable in his bed.

“Pretty fucking amazing, actually, and, I literally had the best idea on the plane. Yakov threatened to turn my quads into triples for being late to practice so many times—” (Otabek gave him and I-told-you-so look but Yuri ignored it and kept on talking) “—and that got me thinking, like, what if I turned two of the quads in the free skate into triples in the first half so that I could do a combo quad-triple near the end of my routine? I checked with the music, and it fits, and it would definitely raise the difficulty. I have been practicing a similar combo for my short program and so I know I can definitely nail it.”

Yuri spoke quickly, clearly excited about the choreography. Otabek was glad he wasn’t too nervous; he knew the pressure Yuri was facing after last season, but Yuri had a way of not letting the expectations of others get to him. Otabek admired that about him.

“Have you talked to Yakov about it?” Otabek asked, already knowing the answer.

“No…” Yuri said sheepishly. “Honestly, I’m planning to tell him right before warm-ups and then run away so he can’t yell at me.”

That was Yuri, alright. 

— 

The conversation lulled as the time neared 1:00 am. Yuri's eyelids were getting heavy and Otabek could see him beginning to doze off. 

“Yura, I think you should go to bed. You have a big day tomorrow,” he said gently, suppressing a laugh when Yuri snapped his eyes open as if he hadn’t just fallen asleep while in the middle of a sentence.

“Mmm, that’s an understatement…” Yuri responded, but he didn’t fight back. Yuri stretched his arms overhead and turned off the lamp over his head, the screen suddenly going dark and leaving only Yuri’s face, illuminated by the light from Otabek’s screen.

“Beka?” Yuri mumbled, already closing his eyes and burrowing his head further into the pillow. 

“What’s up?” 

“Will you stay on the phone until I fall asleep?” He asked, opening his eyes to stare at Otabek. Otabek felt a warmth in his stomach as he looked at Yuri, half asleep, watching him sleepily through the phone. Otabek smiled at the suggestion.

“Of course, Yura,” Otabek chuckled, turning off his light and plugging in his phone and laying it back down next to him. 

“It’ll be like we’re sleeping together,” Otabek said, mostly to himself.

Yuri sighed into the pillow, barely audible through the mic on his phone. His screen was almost completely dark now, but Otabek could see the strands of hair that caught the remaining light from the hotel window, as well as Yuri’s long eyelashes that fluttered as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

“What I wouldn’t give…” Yuri mumbled, and then dropped off into sleep. Otabek smiled as a warmth spread throughout his whole body. He watched Yuri’s dark outline breathe quietly for a few minutes, before sleep took him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had an idea that Otabek would like, really be into Guy Fieri, and then it spiraled from there. I don't know why I've held onto this headcanon for so long, but I feel like if anyone in YOI would become obsessed with a random American TV personality like Mr. Fieri, it would be Otabek.
> 
> This was basically The Crack Chapter(TM). If you made it this far, thank you! You deserve a pat on the back for putting up with my nonsense. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading :) See you next week!


	3. Wait, You Guys Have a Groupchat?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Otabek watches Yuri glide gracefully around the ice. Yuri slips effortlessly into the story on the piece, portraying more emotion with a sweep of his arm than most skaters achieve in their lifetime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said I loved Panic! At the Disco? For context, I was inspired by [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I2n36XkAMTI) and it spiraled from there.  
> Enjoy!

The next morning, Otabek’s phone was still propped up next to him but the screen was blank. He checked the call log and saw that the call had ended sometime during the middle of the night, which meant Yuri’s phone had probably died. Otabek checked the clock on his nightstand, which read 8:32 am, and then got out of bed. It was Friday, the first day of Skate America, and Celestino had given his skaters the day off to watch the competition. He wasn’t entirely off the hook, however; Celestino had warned that if he relaxed the entire day he would make him skate circles until he collapsed. Otabek was not going to risk calling his bluff, so he texted Celestino that he was going for a run before the Skate America aired on TV. As he changed into a pair of running tights and shorts, he got an instagram DM from Phichit.

(phichit+chu) **_Beka!!!! Want to come over and watch Skate America with me? I’m having a couple other people over from the rink! (◕‿◕✿)_ **

Otabek rolled his eyes; of course Phichit used kaomojis. He had planned to watch the coverage alone, but since he couldn’t think of a valid excuse _not_ to go, he decided to try going outside of his comfort zone and hang out with Phichit and his friends. If he wasn’t having a good time, he heard that Phichit had hamsters and he could always hang out with them instead. Besides, being around other people might help the gnawing feeling he had in his stomach. 

Now that he and Yuri were so close, finally on the same continent and only five hours apart (Otabek had looked it up), the longing and sadness in his chest had moved from a dull pain to a sharp, constant reminder of what he didn’t have. Otabek could use a distraction, so he responded to Phichit’s message.

(otabek-altin) **_Sure. Should I come around noon?_ **

The message status turned from delivered to read in a few seconds and Otabek saw three dots pop up as Phichit quickly typed up a response.

(phichit+chu) **_OMG! Yes! Noon is perfect ( ´ ▽ ` )b_**

(phichit+chu) **_what’s your phone number? lemme text you the address!_ **

— 

Otabek arrived at Pichit’s apartment building a little after noon, having finished his run, showered, and eaten a quick breakfast. He was greeted with an intercom system at the front door. Otabek sighed, and instead of taking the chance of having his voice blasted over Phichit’s intercom, he texted him that he was waiting outside. One minute later, Phichit threw open the front door, squealing with delight. 

“Otabek! I’m so glad you could come!” Phichit beamed as the two walked into the building. Otabek knew that was code for _I didn’t think you would actually show up,_ so he nodded politely in response. Phichit directed him down a hallway, babbling about his living situation.

“I live on the first floor, which makes it super easy for me because this building doesn’t have _any_ elevators! Can you believe it? In 2017, a building that has handicap bathrooms on every floor but no elevators?”

Phichit paused in front of a door.

“Anyways, this one is mine,” he said, unlocking the door for Otabek and gesturing him inside.

Otabek took in the apartment. It was very homey, with a small kitchen nestled just outside of a dining area that Phichit had furnished with an actual dining room table (Otabek prefered to eat at the kitchen counter or on his couch). He could see a short hallway leading to a closed door, which Otabek assumed was Phichit’s bedroom because it was cracked open slightly and he could just spot a hamster cage through the opening. The living room was extended from the dining area, with a large sofa and a few chairs nestled around a coffee table and TV. There were three other people sitting on the couch, and Otabek recognized from the rink. They all looked up when Phichit opened the door.

“Everyone, say hi to Otabek!” Phichit said cheerfully, taking off his shoes and replacing them with a pair of slippers. Otabek gave a small wave, but the three skaters on the couch just stared in awe.

Feeling uncomfortable, Otabek slipped off his boots and took a seat on one of the chairs facing the TV. The guests were still looking at him with wide eyes, so against his better judgement, he tried to make conversation.

“Um, hi. I’m Otabek.”

Well, he tried.

“I know…” came a whisper from a girl with wild brown hair. She shook her head slightly, trying to compose herself.

“I mean, we know,” she continued sheepishly. “I’m Maya, Maya Sharps. I, uh… I’ve been skating at the rink since before Yuuri Katsuki trained here. I was so excited to hear that you had joined our club to train! I’ve been following your career for a long time— you’re like, incredible, by the way— and, um, even though I’ve seen you in practice, I never thought I would be able to meet you!”

The other two nodded in agreement next to her, eyes shining. One was a boy with braces and blonde hair, and the other was dark-skinned girl with box braids. All three of them looked to be about Yuri’s age, around 15 or 16.

Otabek felt even more out of place, like he was being treated as some sort of celebrity, even though everyone who trained with the club had to be of his caliber or better. He didn’t know what to say, and so the room lapsed into an awkward silence.

“Ah, look! Warm-ups are starting!” Phichit smoothly broke the tension by turning up the TV. Otabek turned his attention to the skaters, scanning the ice for the familiar flash of gold…

 _There._ Otabek instantly spotted Yuri, whose light blue tuxedo was blending into the blue of the ice. Otabek watched him run through his program, marking the step sequences and flying through the air for his jumps. For this program he had chosen to keep his hair loose, letting it fly wildly around his face. He had explained to Otabek that it added to his _character_ and that it wasn’t as bothersome as it seemed.

Phichit and the other skaters were chatting idly about the different themes for this year, and Otabek overheard someone say that Christophe had chosen a theme based on Latin Dance. Sure enough, the cameras panned to Christophe, who was wearing a red Flamenco shirt with flowing sleeves and black tights. His cheeks were flushed and his mouth draped slightly open as he ran through his routine. Otabek shifted his attention back to Yuri, who had just exited the ice and was saying something Yakov.

“Look, it’s Yuri!” Phichit pointed to the screen excitedly. “We ate dinner together at last year’s Grand Prix and Otabek was there too. He is _so_ talented!”

Phichit explained all of this to the younger skaters, who listened with rapt attention. Otabek pulled out his phone and texted Yuri.

12:35pm **_davai (thumbs up)_**

Yuri responded a few minutes later.

12:41pm **_are you watching??? how do i look? ;)_ **

Otabek smiled at his phone.

“Beka, are you texting Yuri?” Phichit teased, and Otabek was surprised to find that he didn’t mind the nickname. Apparently, being referred to as “Beka” by Yuri had made him grow soft to the idea. 

He hated it.

“Mhm. Just telling him good luck,” Otabek said, already typing a reply on his phone. Phichit turned to the young skaters.

“Otabek, we call him Beka at the rink—” (Otabek wanted to object because _no_ , only three people in the entire world called him Beka and it was a very _personal nickname,_ but when he saw the way the three skaters on the couch grinned ecstatically in response, he decided to let it go, along with a tiny fragment of his aura of mystery) “— is like, best friends with Yuri. Like, other than skaters in his home country, Yuri doesn’t have too many close friends, but him and Beka are so cute together—”

Phichit cut himself off and covered his mouth with a squeak. He looked at Otabek with wide eyes.

“Uh… sorry, I didn’t mean it that way…. Ah, as in, I didn’t mean to presume…” Phichit blushed and trailed off. 

In response, Otabek simply shrugged.

“Don’t worry about it,” Otabek said. He looked back at his phone, but not before catching the wide-eyed stares of the other four people in the room.

Aura of mystery: restored.

12:43pm: **_you look great. I really like the blue. can’t wait to finally see this program._ **

_—_

Yuri was scheduled to perform fourth, around 1:30, so Otabek had some time to wait. Even though the other skaters who competed in Skate America were also competing against him in the Grand Prix series, Otabek found that he was generally uninterested in watching their programs. He forced himself to focus nonetheless, like the dedicated skater that he was, making mental notes about their varying levels of program difficulty, and trying to determine the stronger skaters in the bunch, so he would know what he would be up against if— no, _when—_ he made the Grand Prix Finals.

Christophe performed first, skating to _El Tango de Roxanne,_ followed by Minami Kenjiro, who had qualified for his first Grand Prix Series that year. Minami was followed by a skater from France, one that Otabek recognized but hadn’t yet learned the name of. Quickly, he learned that this mystery skater was French and specialized in jump combinations; he had crammed three into his short program alone.

Finally, it was Yuri’s turn, and Otabek tried not subtly scoot forward in his seat, all of his attention on the screen. 

Yuri was skating to the song _Impossible Year_ by Panic! At the Disco. Yuri’s love for the band had blossomed all because of Otabek. After Yuri had discovered that Otabek was a DJ, back in Barcelona, he had begged Otabek to teach him more about music and introduce him to new artists. Otabek spent hours making playlists, trying to balance his favorite bands with new music he thought Yuri would like. He made playlists based on moods, themes, genres, styles; he may have gone a little bit overboard, but Yuri loved them and listened to every song Otabek sent him. 

One day, Yuri asked Otabek to make him a list of his favorite artists so that Yuri could get a better grasp on the enigma that was Otabek Altin. Otabek was happy to comply, so he sent Yuri the equivalent of a mixtape on Spotify with an accompanying document that explained the stories behind his favorite artists and songs. One of the bands Otabek had included was Panic! At the Disco, and when Yuri first heard the song _Time to Dance_ (which was a perfect mix of new age synth and rock, according to Otabek), Yuri fell headfirst down a Panic! At The Disco hole, listening to their entire discography in the span of 24 hours. While Yuri had an edge, he preferred their most recent album, _Death of a Bachelor,_ which sounded a lot like pop-punk. 

Ever since Yuri had skated to _Welcome to the Madness,_ he had been looking for his next surprise. The minute he got the idea, Yuri sat down with Lilya and played the album for her, letting Lilya help him decide which song he wanted to perform. Lilya originally scoffed at the idea of skating to anything _other_ than classical music, but the song _Impossible Year,_ with its piano, violins, trumpets, and flowing melody with just a touch of heartbreak, had swayed her. She agreed to choreograph Yuri’s short program to the song.

Otabek watched Yuri glide gracefully around the ice. He saw him effortlessly slipping into the story on the piece, portraying more emotion with a sweep of his arm than most skaters achieved in their lifetime. Otabek always felt proud when he watched Yuri skate, but this time he was _enthralled_ , watching with rapt attention as Yuri performed. Otabek had to remind himself how to breathe everytime Yuri flicked his hair out of his face.

All in all, Yuri did well in the short program. He stepped out of a quad, but made up for it by taking the rest of his jumps with one outstretched above him, earning some extra points for difficulty. Otabek was also impressed by the amount of maturity Yuri brought to the piece. He perfectly encapsulated the feelings of loss in the song, which turned into despair, which in turn slowly morphed into something that looked like hope. It broke Otabek’s heart in the best way possible.

The room cheered when Yuri finished, Otabek loudest of all. After a few minutes of commercials, the TV cut back to Yuri, Lilya, and Yakov, who were sitting at the kiss and cry, waiting for Yuri’s scores. Yuri was typing something on his phone, but when the cameras panned to them, Yakov elbowed him sharply and Yuri glared at him before slipping his phone into his pocket. A second later, Otabek got a text.

1:50pm **_scores coming out n_**

The last word was cut off. Otabek smiled, and responded to Yuri by texting a picture of the TV. 

— 

The rest of the afternoon was uneventful, even though Otabek ended up in a selfie on Phichit’s instagram with the other three skaters. Otabek noticed that Yuri was one of the first people to like it.

When the performances ended, Otabek said goodbye to the three younger skaters. The blond one even tried to shake his hand, which he just stared at like an idiot. After a moment of awkwardness, Otabek gave him a handshake anyways and mumbled something about seeing him on the ice.

Phichit walked him to the front door. 

“Thanks for coming, Beka,” he said sincerely. “I really hope we have the chance to hang out more.”

Otabek nodded. Before he could respond or thank Phichit for inviting him, his phone pinged from inside his jacket. Without realizing it, his hand flew to his pocket to suppress the noise.

“Is that Yuri?” Phichit asked with a small smile. Despite himself, Otabek blushed a little. 

“Yeah. He probably wants to go over his routine,” Otabek reached into his pocket and silenced his phone. 

Phichit was looking at him with an odd expression on his face. Otabek itched to get on his bike and ride away as soon as possible.

“Um, I apologize again for, like, assuming things about your relationship with Yuri…” Phichit trailed off and rubbed the back of his neck. Otabek opened his mouth to remind him that there was no need, but Phichit cut him off.

“But I am curious… are you two dating?” 

Otabek blinked in surprise. He wanted to turn around and run as fast as he could away from the situation that was unfolding in front of him. But then, he reminded himself that Phichit was just trying to be supportive _,_ so instead he took a deep breath and rubbed his face.

“No. We’re just… really close friends,” he said, trying to remain expressionless. Phichit raised an eyebrow like he wasn’t quite convinced.

“How much do you guys talk to each other?” he asked. Otabek ran some quick calculations in his head. He then considered lying, because the actual answer was kind of embarrassing.

“We talk on the phone every day, right before he goes to practice and I go to bed… and, uh, we text during the hours we’re both awake,” he admitted. 

It was true, Otabek’s phone had seen a lot of use in the year that he had started talking to Yuri on a regular basis. Before, he would check his phone maybe once or twice a day, but now— Otabek kept his ringer on.

“Beka, it sounds like you two are dating,” Phichit said bluntly. Otabek stared at him with an open mouth, and Phichit laughed loudly.

“I mean, you two talk every day, and you’re always texting him, and don’t think I didn’t catch you _smiling_ at your phone earlier. Me and Maya and Ben and Josephine—” (Phichit jerked his head back in the direction of the apartment) “ —were all talking about it in the group chat. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen you smile, even when you are on the podium!”

“Wait, you guys have a _group chat_ —”

“Nevermind that! It’s besides the point!” Phichit interrupted him impatiently. “I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. You both just need to sit down and _talk._ Have you guys DTRed yet?” 

Otabek’s head was spinning, and he couldn’t keep up with the words rushing out of Phichit’s mouth. He was now very much regretting the decision not to stay home. He exhaled loudly and covered his face with his hands.

“Phichit, I swear to god, if ‘DTR’ is a sex thing, then I will never talk to you ever again,” he groaned from behind his hands.

Phichit laughed a bright, twinkling laugh. It helped to soothe some of the knots that were forming in Otabek’s stomach.

“No, it is definitely not a sex thing. DTR stands for Define The Relationship, which is what you and Yuri need to do,” Phichit said, matter-of-factly. Otabek was silent.

“I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, Beka. I just really think that you two need a push in the right direction or else you’ll be pining over each other forever,” Phichit said softly. 

Otabek made a face that read: _who the hell said anything about pining,_ but even still he dropped his hands and shoved them in his pockets. To be fair, Otabek was clueless when it came to love and relationships. He honestly wasn’t sure _what_ type of label he would give his relationship with Yuri. He didn’t know if it was love, because he’d never been in love before, so he settled for being Yuri’s best friend. His best friend that flirted with him a lot, and fell asleep on the phone together, and kissed in a bathroom stall once. Or twice. 

For the time being, though, calling Yuri a friend felt, well, _comfortable_. And Otabek was not a fan of pushing himself outside of his comfort zone.

Rather than share any of that with Phichit, however, he just thanked him with a tight lipped smile and walked over to his bike, which was parked to the side of the building. Phichit was a good friend for trying to reason things out for him, Otabek thought to himself, but that was the opposite of what he needed. What Otabek really needed someone who could understand what he was feeling by reading the tilt of an eyebrow, or the twitch of his mouth; he needed someone who didn’t mind long silences.

Otabek knew exactly which person that was, but he didn’t want to admit it.

As Otabek rode home, he tried to think of what to say when Yuri inevitably called to talk about his program. He parked his bike in a nearby garage, and then walked quickly back to his apartment complex.

Before he got a chance to unlock the door, his phone rang.

— 

The next day, Otabek went to practice in the morning and did two on-ice sessions back to back so that he could skip his evening practice to watch the conclusion of Skate America. Celestino reminded Otabek that he was exempt from formal practices due to the event, but Otabek felt antsy just sitting around while his competition was an hour away, skating their hearts out. 

Practice went by in a blur, like it usually did when Otabek’s mind was elsewhere. He left the rink mid-afternoon, and had showered and eaten by 3 o’clock. The free skate event wasn’t supposed to take place until 6:00pm his time, so he ran some errands and took a quick nap while he waited. 

This time, Otabek watched the event alone in his living room, where he felt more comfortable to yell and cheer loudly during Yuri’s free skate. Lilya had chosen the music for his second piece, which was a traditional Tchaicovsky that any toddler in the audience could recognize. She had adapted the challenging choreography from Swan Lake’s _Dance of the Little Swans_ and turned it into a heart-pounding free skate, not only for the audience but for Yuri himself. Many a morning Yuri had complained to Otabek about the piece’s endurance, and how he was jealous of Katsudon’s stamina because, _Jesus Christ,_ did he need it. But Yuri performed it almost flawlessly, even though Otabek noticed him begin to tire during the second half. 

Yuri narrowly snagged the gold, beating Christophe by a two point margin and JJ by three points. Otabek cheered in his apartment during the medal ceremony, and sent Yuri a rare picture of himself, smiling in front of the news coverage that read: “Yuri Plisetsky, the Previous Year’s GPF Grand Champion, Stays on Top with A Gold Medal at Skate America.” 

Otabek knew Yuri was busy, so he went to bed early without expecting a phone call from him. However, he was awoken a little past midnight by his phone ringing on his nightstand.

“Oi, Altin? Are you awake? I have been texting you for the past hour. You have to help me celebrate my gold, dumbass!” Yuri’s voice came through his speaker loudly. It took Otabek a few seconds to process what was happening.

“Uh… I was asleep,” Otabek said dumbly, trying to clear the grogginess from his throat. “I’m sorry; I went to bed a couple hours ago. I honestly didn’t think you were going to have time to talk.”

Yuri laughed softly on the other end.

“Beka, I always have time for you.”

Otabek smiled and rubbed some of the sleep out of his eyes. He reached out to turn on the lamp beside him. 

“Alright then, golden boy, how are you?”

— 

Two days later, Otabek was trying to distract himself from the fact that Yuri was leaving the country. Soon enough, Yuri would be back in Russia, seven hours ahead of him and thousands of miles away further. Otabek had just come back from practice, freshly showered but still somehow out of breath from the quads that Celestino had mercilessly made him drill, over and over until his legs were shaking from exertion. It had taken a lot of effort to safely drive his bike out of the parking lot, and for a moment Otabek considered leaving the motorcycle in the parking lot so he could wobble home.

Luckily, the ride had helped to ease his muscles a little, and he was walking normally by the time he reached his apartment. He took the elevator up to his floor, shouldering his practice bag and taking out his phone. He then checked his phone, which still showed no new messages. Otabek hadn’t heard from Yuri at all that morning, which was odd because Yuri usually texted Otabek when he moved around in the world: arriving to practice, going to the grocery store, boarding a flight. Not that Otabek _needed_ to know where Yuri was at all times, but it was nice to know that he was safe. He thought about texting Yuri to have a safe flight _,_ or something along those lines, but Otabek decided that double-texting was definitely not his style. The elevator pinged and slowed to a halt, so Otabek pocketed his phone before stepping out into the hallway.

As he rounded the corner, Otabek noticed that there was a person sitting in front of his door. He squinted, trying to figure out who it was, while at the same time, feeling very annoyed at the invasion of privacy. The person was crouched against the wall, their hair covered by a hood, and… Otabek was stunned: was that a suitcase next to them? He walked down the hall towards his room, trying to shake the feeling that there was something vaguely familiar about them, when the person turned their head to look up at him and Otabek suddenly realized— 

“Yuri?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will I ever stop ending chapters with dialogue? Probably not :)  
> —  
> Fun fact: Otabek last name (Altin) means gold, and since Yuri's theme in this fic is "golden," I imagine Otabek had something to say about it.  
> Beka: hey yuri  
> Yuri: what  
> Beka: you know "altin" means gold, right  
> Yuri: yeah, so  
> Beka: your theme.... is golden.... did that have _anything_ to do with me?  
> Yuri: ...  
> Yuri: no not at all haha that's crazy why would I do that I'm not obsessed with you or anything  
> —  
> Thank you for reading, commenting, leaving kudos, even just clicking on my writing. It means a lot!  
> See you next week ;)


	4. Dancing's Not a Crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends don’t tell each other they look beautiful when they are just waking up and their hair is a mess. Friends don’t call each other crying and comfort them until their pain is a distant memory.  
> Or maybe they do. Yuri also doesn’t have a lot of experience with friends.

* * *

Yuri Plisetsky had been on podiums before. He’d stood in front of larger crowds, the familiar weight of a medal around his neck, as the Russian national anthem played over the loudspeaker. He’d picked up bouquets larger than his head, thrown onto the ice by one crazed fan or another, and posed for picture after picture. He had been here before, and he was trying not to scowl. 

Yuri _was_ happy that he won gold. Last year, he had gracefully taken first place in Russian nationals (Victor was out of practice), but his performance in World’s left much to be desired. It seemed like the pressure had finally caught up to him: his movements were disjointed from the music, he popped a jump during warm-ups, and he made the same mistake during his free skate. He scraped by with a bronze, narrowly making the podium, which was somehow more disappointing than losing Victor as a choreographer (and dare he say mentor?) for a whole season. Not to mention that Otabek hadn’t even qualified for World’s, which Yuri had been looking forward to since Barcelona. But it didn’t matter what Yuri felt, because he knew it was infinitely more disappointing for Otabek. The devastation of not even being able to compete in World’s was the reason that Otabek moved to America in the first place, just when Yuri learned that the distance from Almaty to St. Petersburg was just a plane ride away…

Distances had been on Yuri’s mind as of late, and that was probably the reason that he wasn’t able to enjoy his gold as much as he should have. Yuri beat JJ for the first time in his career, which he would normally rub in the other man’s face as much as physically possible, but he couldn’t find the motivation. (Well, not entirely— Yuri _had_ made a face when JJ’s Free Skate score came out and Yuri realized that he had snatched gold; he was never known for being a good sport.) But, Yuri would’ve liked to celebrate it more; he wanted to be able to feast in the glow of his monumental win. He should have been more ecstatic to start off the season on such a good foot, but he wasn’t. Yuri was bored. 

He spent the entirety of the banquet sulking at his table and texting Otabek.

8:16pm **_i don’t want to be here_ **

8:16pm **_and yakov won’t let me drink_ **

Otabek responded a few minutes later.

8:20pm **_since when you drink?_ **

Yuri scoffed at his phone, and then looked around the room. JJ and his wife Bella were in the middle of the dancefloor, slow dancing to an upbeat song. It disgusted him to watch, more than looking at JJ regularly did.

He made eye contact with Christophe and immediately regretted it. Christophe was swaying his hips seductively and when he spotted Yuri sitting alone, he made a motion similar to swinging a lasso, threw it in Yuri’s direction, and began to pull the invisible rope towards himself as he wiggled his eyebrows. Yuri gave him the finger and Christophe laughed brightly, obviously immune to Yuri’s bad attitude.

8:21pm **_christophe is trying to get me dance (vomit emoji)_ **

He glanced around the room again. Yakov was at the bar, and Lilya was talking to some people Yuri didn’t recognize. Since no one was watching him, he grabbed Yakov’s glass of champagne from across the table and downed it in one sip. 

Big mistake. Yuri coughed loudly, learning the hard way that he hated the taste of champagne. Choking, he took a large sip of his water and tried to rid himself of the acrid aftertaste. 

Yuri was immensely disappointed. His only plan for coping with the evening was a bust and also burning uncomfortably in his throat. 

_How do adults deal with this shit?_ he thought to himself, filling up Yakov’s glass with water. Yuri’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

8:23pm **_dancing isn’t a crime_ **

8:23pm **_unless you do it without me_ **

Yuri smiled at his phone. He wished, for the millionth time that evening, that Otabek was at the banquet with him. Yuri imagined the two of them whispering like children in the corner of the ballroom, poking fun at the other skaters laughing at their own inside jokes.

He didn’t get a chance to respond to the text. Yakov came stomping back to the table, scolding Yuri for not “socializing with the other skaters.” Yuri prayed for a swift death as Yakov took him by the arm and dragged him onto the dance floor.

— 

Nothing had ever, in his entire life, felt as good as it did when he flopped face first onto his hotel bed that night. He pulled his phone out of his jacket before discarding the blazer unceremoniously onto a nearby chair. Yuri hadn’t been able to check his messages at all after Yakov had dragged him out of his seat, threatening to snap the damn thing if he looked at it one more time. Yuri hated when Yakov tried to teach him manners. 

He opened up Instagram, and the first thing he saw was an ad for an airline company. He panicked for a second, his heart beating loudly in his ears. Looking around to make sure he was entirely alone in his hotel room, Yuri clicked on the link. 

Those damn targeted ads. Yuri had clicked on that same site just a few hours ago, searching up hypothetical flights from Chicago to Detroit. Not that he had any intention to drop everything and fly to Detroit, but he thought it would be a helpful coping mechanism for how much he missed Otabek. Instead, it only acted as a painful reminder of how close and yet, how abysmally far the two of them were in that moment. For the second year in a row, Otabek and Yuri weren’t placed in any of the same Grand Prix series cups, so the next time they would be able to meet was the Grand Prix Finals… That was, if both of them even qualified.

It had been nine months, exactly, since him and Otabek had first kissed. Yuri wasn’t sure what he and Otabek were, since the two men avoided talking about their relationship like the plague. It wasn’t like they didn’t have feelings for each other, it was just how they operated: they didn’t talk about feelings.

In his mind, however, Otabek was his boyfriend. Yuri had never had a boyfriend before, but he assumed that Otabek was the closest thing to a _boyfriend_ that there was. Plus, he felt uncomfortable referring to Otabek as _just_ a friend. Friends didn’t fall asleep on the phone together. Friends didn’t tell each other they looked beautiful when they were just waking up and their hair was a mess. Friends didn’t call each other crying and comfort them until their pain was a distant memory.

Or maybe they did. Yuri also didn’t have a lot of experience with friends.

As he scrolled through the flights, watching the app update the prices every other minute, he noticed that one flight was priced ridiculously low. Like, the amount of money that he had exchanged from rubles to Americans dollars, low. 

Yuri’s eyes widened as he searched the flight on a more reputable site and, sure enough, saw that the price was the same. To his surprise, the flight was scheduled to depart at around the same time he had originally planned to leave Chicago. It was like the universe was sending Yuri a sign, and who was _Yuri_ to go against the _universe_...

He considered it for approximately 0.5 seconds more, and then hastily purchased one ticket, direct flight from Chicago, IL to Detroit, MI, departing at 8:17am. His heart beat faster and his hands started to feel clammy. The rush of a split second decision, the anticipation to see Otabek: it was the most excited that Yuri had felt during the entire weekend. 

Yuri checked the time: 12:30am. God, had the banquet gone that long? He opened his SMS app and started to type a message to Otabek, but he froze halfway through. 

Yuri didn’t know Otabek’s schedule that well. He didn’t know Detroit at all. What was he going to do, just show up at Otabek’s door and say “surprise?” Yuri didn’t even have a plan to get home. And then there was a terrible intrusive thought: what if Otabek didn’t even want to see him?

Yuri threw his phone across the room, trying not to let the doubt spiraling around his head make him second-guess himself. He buried his face into his pillow. So what if he didn’t have a plan? So what if he was throwing caution to the wind and taking a huge risk? He didn’t know when he would be able to see Otabek next, and that deep, painful ache in his chest won over all logic and reason. He just hoped Otabek was the kind of person who wouldn’t mind Yuri just showing up on his doorstep. 

The next morning, Yuri left the hotel before the sun came up. As he was boarding the plane, he texted Yakov, explaining that he was going to Detroit for a few days to visit a skating friend, but that he would make sure to practice hard in the meantime. Yuri shut off his phone the minute the message was sent so that, at the very least, he would have some peace and quiet before Yakov inevitably found out about Yuri’s plan and lectured him to death.

Yuri watched the plane take off from his seat by the window.

 _Coming for you,_ he thought to himself, and for the first time in months, he quickly drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

— 

Yuri sat on the wall outside of Otabek’s apartment, mentally kicking himself. Not only was his plan not so much of an actual plan but a spontaneous undertaking, but it was hitting him how stupid he had been in trying to make it work.

His first obstacle was the fact that he didn’t have Otabek’s address. After being chewed out on the phone by Yakov for 45 minutes straight, Yuri left the airport and hailed a cab. Only when the driver asked, “Where to?” did Yuri realize he had no clue where Otabek lived. 

He frantically called Phichit, the only other person he knew in the Detroit area, who was able to give him Otabek’s address from a team roster. Before Phichit could ask anything else, Yuri hung up the phone. He was already in so much trouble for jet setting off to Detroit in the first place; he didn’t want word getting back to Yakov that he had gone on a total whim without the trace of a plan (even though that’s exactly what he did).

After Yuri finally reached Otabek’s apartment, he realized that he had no way of buzzing himself in and was locked outside of the building. He eventually just followed a lady and her dog through the front door, slipping in behind her once it was unlocked. Yuri then found Otabek’s name on a directory and took the elevator up to the 6th floor. 

When he got to Otabek’s apartment, he stood in front of it for a while, trying to gather his nerves. He’d been so focused on simply getting to Otabek that he hadn’t thought of what he would say when he saw him. 

_So get this, I ran away from Yakov and the prestigious world of men’s figure skating to come visit you for a weekend._

Hm... Too blunt. He could explain himself after he said hello.

_Hi Beka, long time no see!_

Too cheery. Not like himself at all.

_I’ve been thinking about you this entire weekend. Are you going to kiss me or what?_

Too fucking forward. Yuri was confident, but not _that_ confident.

After a moment of thought, Yuri decided to wing it. He trusted that the right words would magically appear in his head when he saw Otabek’s face. Yuri took a deep breath and knocked on the door. 

There was no answer. He knocked again, louder this time, and still the door didn’t move.

Yuri slid down the wall in defeat. Of course. _Of course_ Otabek wasn’t home. Yuri sighed, and then kicked at his suitcase until it was sitting next to him. He shoved in a pair of earphones and opened Spotify; if he was going to wait, at least he could pass the time with some music.

— 

Almost forty-five minutes later, and there was still no sign of Otabek. Yuri was getting sore from sitting on the ground, and he was tired of the skeptical looks that Otabek’s neighbors had been giving him as passed in the hallway. He was just about to call Otabek and ruin the surprise, when he heard the elevator ping. 

Trying to avoid another dirty look from a resident of the building, Yuri pulled up his hood and tried to bury his nose in his phone. He heard footsteps approaching him, but then, strangely, the footsteps stopped in the middle of the hallway. Curious, Yuri peeked out from under his hood.

“Yuri?”

Otabek stood frozen at the end of the hallway. Yuri slowly picked himself up from the wall where he was sitting, removing his headphones and shoving them into his pockets along with his phone, still staring at Otabek. Neither moved for a moment, then Otabek began to walk quickly down the hallway, towards his apartment door.

“Beka! I, uh— I didn’t really plan this out well,” Yuri began, stuttering. Otabek was right in front of him, yet Yuri still couldn't find the perfect words. “I just flew in this morning and, uh… I came straight to your apartment, even though you weren’t here. Now I look like a dumbass, but I was just so excited to see you—”

Yuri was cut off as Otabek grabbed him and pulled him into a tight hug without saying a word. Yuri was surprised at first, but then relaxed into Otabek’s arms and buried his face into his jacket, his forehead on Otabek’s shoulder. He threaded his arms around Otabek’s waist and squeezed him back, smelling the familiar scent of oil and aftershave and leather from a jacket Yuri had worn, once upon a time.

“Yura…” Otabek whispered into Yuri’s hair. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuri POV this week! But also... sorry for the cockblock. I have no excuses; this is who I am.
> 
> Another chapter title inspired by Panic! At the Disco. This is one of their song titles, and it's a great song I highly recommend [checking it out!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3hul2ugk2zw)


	5. Let's Get These Teen Hearts Beating (Faster, Faster)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time in a long time, Otabek was experiencing a happiness that didn't come from sacrifice. Yuri was warm and gentle and there, right in front of him, and Otabek didn’t have to ask.

Otabek closed the space between himself and Yuri almost instantaneously. He could’ve sworn he was floating. 

As he held Yuri in his arms, and he was keenly aware that the smell of Yuri’s hair was the only thing grounding him to the Earth. Happiness bloomed in his chest; the closest thing he could equate to being surprised by his best friend (who he missed with almost every fiber of his being) was standing on the podium with a medal around his neck… But the two were so glaringly different, for one reason. When Otabek set a personal best, or placed in a figure skating competition, there was always the feeling of relief and accomplishment that came with it. He was happy and proud, but his winning was always the _effect_ of something else: practices that left him mottled with bruises, 5:00am runs so that he could be at the rink by sunrise, giving up a normal childhood to be a professional skater. All of his success came because of sacrifice.

But this— holding Yuri for the first time in over a year, physically sharing the same space with one of the closest people in his life, breathing in an unfamiliar but oh-so comforting smell that was uniquely Yuri— this felt _given_ . For the first time in a long time, Otabek was experiencing a happiness that didn’t come from sacrifice. Yuri was warm and gentle and _there,_ right in front of him, and Otabek didn’t have to ask. 

Briefly, Otabek wondered if he should call that feeling love.

Instead, he pulled away from the hug and unlocked the door. Yuri entered and leaned on the back of Otabek’s couch while Otabek rolled in his suitcase outside. The two of them stood awkwardly for just a moment in the apartment, looking at each other silently. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked. Yuri furrowed his brow, and Otabek realized that he may have been misinterpreted. He startled rambling an explanation.

“I didn’t mean, like: what are you doing here, as in it’s a bad thing, ‘cause it’s not; I really am so glad to see you—”

“It’s fine, Beka,” Yuri interrupted, giving Otabek a tired smile. “Honestly, I’m not sure myself. I came here without even a fucking _semblance_ of a plan, I have three million angry texts and voicemails on my phone, more than half of my suitcase is filled with costume materials…” 

Yuri trailed off, scratching the back of his neck like he was just coming to terms how impulsive the whole thing really was. But then Yuri looked up at him, and Otabek could see that Yuri’s eyes were gleaming with earnesty.

“I just… I really missed you, Beka. And I really wanted to visit you. This is the first time we’ve been on the same fucking continent in like, what, a year?” Yuri scoffed. “I wasn’t going to give up the opportunity to see you.”

Otabek smiled, feeling a familiar warmth spread through his stomach. Yuri smiled back at him shyly, letting some of his hair fall in front of his face. Otabek— overwhelmed with a new happiness he still couldn’t name— stepped closer to Yuri, into his space, and tucked the stray hairs behind Yuri’s ear. Yuri blushed and looked up at him; Otabek still had a couple of inches on him.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Otabek repeated, and he then kissed Yuri.

The kiss was gentle at first, welcoming, warm, and full of promise, but Yuri was impatient, so he threw his arms around Otabek and pushed the two of them backwards. 

Otabek didn’t know where to put his hands first. He had imagined this moment many times as he watched Yuri talk animatedly over video call— how wonderful it would be to kiss him in the middle of a sentence. Now that he had Yuri in his arms and he could taste his lips and the warmth of his tongue, and Yuri’s body was pressed against Otabek’s, Otabek wanted to touch everything at once. He wanted to thread his fingers into Yuri’s soft golden hair, he wanted to grab his hips and pull Yuri tighter, he wanted to slip his hands under Yuri’s shirt and run them up and down Yuri’s back. 

One hand was on Yuri’s face, but the other was just hanging there, next to Otabek, so Yuri took measures into his own hands yet again and placed Otabek’s hand over his back pocket, and for once Otabek didn’t mind being told what to do. He grabbed a handful of Yuri’s ass and squeezed and Yuri giggled, he _giggled_ , and that made Otabek want Yuri even _more._ So Otabek kissed Yuri while he laughed, and led the two of them into Otabek’s bedroom.

Yuri paused once he stepped inside, pulling apart look around the room.

“So this is the famous bedroom,” Yuri said. “You know, I skype you every day and this room still looks different somehow.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re here,” Otabek whispered, staring intently into Yuri’s eyes. He was out of breath but all he wanted was to feel Yuri’s lips on his own again, soft, sweet, and hungry. Breathing could wait.

Yuri blushed and looked away.

“Fucking sap,” he mumbled, and Otabek laughed quietly. 

“Shall we… move to the bed?” Otabek asked, biting his lip. Yuri grinned.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said. Yuri pulled off his shirt swiftly and unbuttoned his jeans before Otabek interrupted.

“Wait, don’t you want me to like… undress you?” Otabek said, gesturing vaguely in his direction. In Otabek’s fantasies, there was always more of a _production_ when it came to the foreplay. Lips on skin, sinking teeth into the crevices between the spaces were bones met under skin. Teasing the edges of clothing, rubbing the fabric between fingers slowly, softly. 

Otabek didn’t expect Yuri to just… do it himself.

“No time,” Yuri shot back, and then, when he saw the look on Otabek’s face, added, “We’ll take our time later. I want you now.”

Something snapped inside of Otabek and his face went hot, and all of the intrusive thoughts that were present a second ago disappeared with one look at Yuri. He threw off his shirt and stripped off his jeans unceremoniously until he was just in his boxers, and then grabbed Yuri’s face with both hands and kissed him deeply in the dim light of his room. 

Otabek broke the kiss to lay down on the bed, motioning for Yuri to join him. Yuri, now also clad only in his boxers, straddled Otabek’s waist and bent down to kiss him. Yuri began to lower his hips slowly, grinding lightly at first and then more forcefully, and _god_ did it feel good. Otabek’s breath caught in his throat and he let out a quiet groan, more needy and desperate than he had intended. He wrapped his arms around Yuri because he wanted more and pulled him closer, bucking his hips upwards to meet Yuri’s until they found a steady rhythm. Otabek moaned into Yuri’s mouth.

Yuri slid his hand down Otabek’s side until it found his waist. Yuri dipped his fingers beneath the elastic of Otabek’s boxers, and all of Otabek’s focus turned to the lightning that was teasing it’s way lower, feather-light across his hip bones, and lower, through the dark curls just above...

Otabek pressed the tips of his fingers gently on Yuri’s chest.

“Yura,” Otabek whispered. Yuri pulled away, looking annoyed.

“What, Beka? Are you going to tell me that I’m too young for this?” Yuri spat.

“No, I—”

Because we’ve been over this,” Yuri interrupted with a huff, sitting back on his knees. He crossed his arms. “I have done this before, you know.”

Otabek opened his mouth for a moment and then shut it again. He considered what Yuri was implying, half turned on by the knowledge that Yuri, in fact, fucked, and half disappointed that Yuri hadn’t fucked _him_. Otabek let that thought sit uncomfortably for a second, before deciding that jealousy was not a good color on him. 

Yuri shifted uncomfortably on Otabek’s waist, waiting for a response. Otabek noticed that Yuri was looking anywhere except his erection. 

“Was he prettier than me?” Otabek finally asked. Yuri rolled his eyes.

“No, Beka, he was not _prettier than you,_ ” Yuri replied sarcastically. He placed both of his hands on either side of Otabek’s head, leaning down so that his hair tickled Otabek’s nose and he could feel Yuri’s breath on his face. 

“What about you, hm?” Yuri teased. “Were _they_ prettier than me?” 

Otabek paused again, longer this time. In truth,Yuri and Otabek had before never talked about their previous experiences. It was a careful line to walk, because on the one hand, Otabek had only been with one other person, but on the other hand, he had _been with another person._ Not to mention that talking about past lovers wasn’t exactly an aphrodisiac. 

Otabek wanted to be honest, but he also wanted to reassure Yuri about how much he meant to Otabek— how truly, truly special he was. 

“No, _he_ was not prettier than you,” Otabek corrected, tilting his head. “I haven’t met a single person that could hold a candle to how beautiful you are.”

Yuri blushed fiercely, and buried his face in Otabek’s neck. It was warm, and Otabek basked in the feeling of Yuri’s hair brushing against his cheek.

“Stop writing sonnets, you nerd,” Yuri mumbled. Otabek rolled his eyes.

“Also, if you had let me speak before, I was going to ask if you could get off of me for a second, because I wanted to grab the lube from my bathroom,” he said.

Yuri shot up, looking appalled.

“Why didn’t you just say that?” he groaned, and then smacked Otabek’s shoulder. Otabek just laughed as Yuri rolled off of him.

Otabek shuffled to the bathroom, readjusting himself in his boxers while he rummaged around in his medicine cabinet. It had been a minute since he’d used the lube, but… there, his fingers closed around the familiar—and half empty— bottle. He walked back into the room and placed it on the table next to his bed, and then turned his attention back to Yuri.

Yuri was laying shyly on the bed, his head propped up on one hand. Yuri’s hair fell in front of his face, like it had a habit of doing, and Otabek gave a silent thank you to whatever god had deposited Yuri onto his literal doorstep and draped him over Otabek’s comforter.

“So, like… how far— how far are we going?” Yuri asked, shifting under Otabek’s gaze. Otabek didn’t realize he had been staring. 

Maybe it was because he and Yuri weren’t in the heat of the moment anymore, but Otabek noticed that Yuri looked nervous, or at the very least felt a little insecure. Sometimes, Otabek forgot how young Yuri was, even if he was a world class skater who could hold his own against people ten years older than him. In these moments, Otabek reminded himself to be gentle with Yuri and remember not to _take_ more than he was given, no matter how much he wanted.

Otabek climbed back on the bed so that he could gently stroke the side of Yuri’s face with one hand. Yuri turned his head, burying his face into the touch.

“I want to do everything with you, Beka, I really do—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Otabek cut him off, pulling Yuri to his chest so that his head rested on Otabek’s shoulder. To show Yuri how much he meant it, Otabek reached over and opened the draw on his bedtime table and dropped the lube into it. He closed the drawer and then kissed the top of Yuri’s head.

“We’ll go slow.”

Yuri whipped his head up at that, narrowing his eyes at Otabek.

“I still want to do _some_ stuff,” Yuri practically whined. 

“I understand” Otabek said, trying to sound reassuring. “You... Just tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”

Yuri dropped his head and nodded into Otabek’s shoulder. 

“Now, there is something I’ve been wanting to do for a while now...” Otabek started, his face flushing at the idea. He coaxed Yuri’s head up to meet his, and lightly brushed their lips together. Yuri surged forward to kiss him more deeply, but Otabek held him at bay.

“I’ve been meaning to, ah, pay you back,” Otabek whispered into Yuri’s lips. “For that one time in Barcelona.”

“ _Fuck,_ Beka—”

Otabek cut Yuri off again by crashing into him. Yuri gripped the sides of Otabek’s waist and lowered the two of them so that they were laying on the bed again, this time with Otabek on top. Otabek parted his lips and licked the inside of Yuri’s mouth greedily, the past few minutes of talk a distant memory that was fading fast with the sensations of _hot_ and _wet_ that were Yuri’s lips, Yuri’s tongue.

Yuri gasps were all but swallowed by Otabek who was kissing Yuri sloppily and so, so desperately. Otabek’s hands traveled up and down Yuri’s sides, marveling at his warm skin and the way Yuri squirmed beneath him. Otabek had been holding his hips above Yuri, but after a while the ache in his groin overpowered his resolved and he dipped them slowly to grind against Yuri’s pelvis, which made Yuri _moan_.

The sound that came out of Yuri was nothing like Otabek had heard before, low and deeper than he thought Yuri was capable of and hungry and _desperate,_ and Otabek was sure that he wanted to give Yuri everything and anything he wanted.

Spurred by the noises that were now getting higher and more breathless, Otabek ground his hips into Yuri, shifting his hips ever so slightly that their erections pressed together beneath the fabric of their underwear that was inconvenient and straining to keep the two contained.

If Otabek thought the noise that came out of Yuri was heavenly before, the one he made this time was nothing short of _sinful._

“Yura, _god,_ you sound so good,” Otabek moaned into Yuri’s mouth. Otabek didn’t know if Yuri was a fan of dirty talk, but at this point Otabek was only preaching the gospel.

Otabek slid his hands up Yuri’s chest and rubbed his nipple between his fingers. Yuri gasped and his hands flew to tangle in Otabek’s hair. 

“Is this okay?” Otabek murmured, beginning to kiss down Yuri’s jaw.

“Mmmm, Beka, _fuck,_ Beka, yes. Yes.”

Otabek left a trail of kisses down Yuri’s collarbone, trying his best not to leave a mark even though Yuri was practically mewling beneath him every time Otabek’s teeth scraped against skin. His mouth found Yuri’s nipple and he licked it, flicking his tongue around the sensitive peak. Yuri groaned and bucked his hips up to meet Otabek, who pushed back with equal force so their cocks drove against each other once more, and the feeling made Otabek gasp and bite down, _hard,_ onto Yuri. 

But Yuri didn’t seem to mind and instead groaned with pleasure and yanked Otabek’s hair, the jolt of pain mixing with the pleasure to pooling low in his abdomen. Otabek’s vision was hazy and he was drunk off of the taste of Yuri’s skin, but he knew he needed to get to _get a move on_ because he didn’t know how much longer he would last with Yuri’s hands twisted in his hair and Yuri’s moans in his ears. 

He lifted his head off of Yuri’s chest and his hands found Yuri’s underwear. 

“Can I touch you?” he whispered, searching Yuri’s eyes.

“Beka. I might fucking die if you _don’t,”_ Yuri replied in a clipped voice.

Otabek kissed Yuri quickly before scooting back and sitting on his heels, just above Yuri’s shins. His hands hovered above Yuri’s waist, and he let his fingers glide over Yuri’s hips and slip just under the elastic, trying not to _take,_ even though all Otabek wanted was to take more and more— 

“Jesus fucking christ Beka, _please_ ,” Yuri was begging now, and from the look in Yuri’s eyes, Otabek had no choice but to comply.

His hand closed around Yuri’s dick, hard and straining against the fabric. Otabek stroked slowly, reveling in the way Yuri was whining above him: with his head thrown back and his eyes squeezed shut. Otabek’s fingers teased the head of Yuri’s cock beneath the damp fabric, but he could only take the teasing for so long himself. He wanted Yuri, moreover he wanted to _taste_ Yuri, make him moan and whine and gasp, and (selfishly) hear Yuri scream Otabek’s name. He wanted to make Yuri feel good.

He tugged the fabric down, letting Yuri’s dick spring free, achingly hard and already slick with precome. Otabek spit into his hand (which elicited a low groan from Yuri) and stroked Yuri a few times nonchalantly.

“Fuck,” Yuri gritted his teeth. “Beka, fuck—”

Otabek dipped his head, and Yuri grasped Otabek’s hair again, trying to force him downward, but Otabek was taking his time. He laid a kiss on the head of Yuri’s cock, just for a brief moment, just enough for Yuri to gasp and swear.

“Is this okay?” 

Yuri just whined in response. Wanting a verbal confirmation, Otabek didn’t move, and eventually Yuri understood.

“Yeah, yes— Beka. Yeah,” Yuri said, his voice barely above a whisper.

That was all he needed, really.

Otabek took Yuri into his mouth, marveling at the taste that was wholly Yuri and fucking _delectable._

He told Yuri as much, murmuring the words onto Yuri’s skin, and Yuri breath caught in his throat and he thrashed, fucking upwards into Otabek’s mouth. Otabek took it like a champ and swallowed Yuri to the base. 

“God, Beka, _fuck_ ,” Yuri moaned, blonde hair sticking to his face with sweat. Yuri was just cursing at this point, occasionally whining Otabek’s name like it was the only word he knew, and it fueled Otabek’s hunger and he reached his hand into his boxers to stroke himself while he continued to lick and kiss and suck Yuri’s cock. Yuri gripped Otabek’s hair and _pulled,_ and Otabek groaned around Yuri’s dick.

“Beka, shit, god— fuck I’m— I’m close, Beka—” 

Otabek paused just long enough to say.

“You can come in my mouth, Yura.”

Yuri whimpered.

“You can’t just fucking say _that,_ Beka, holy fuck—”

Otabek licked a stripe on the underside of Yuri’s cock before taking him into his mouth once again, hollowing in his cheeks to increase the friction on Yuri’s cock. Otabek bobbed his head faster, still jerking himself off to the chorus of sounds that were bordering on screams that came from above him. 

_Who knew Yuri was so vocal,_ he thought to himself as he hummed, Yuri’s cock still in his mouth— 

Yuri only got half of Otabek’s name out as he came, and the rest was lost in a low groan as Yuri fisted the sheets with white knuckles. Salty cum filled his mouth and Otabek swallowed it all, because, well, he wasn’t a quitter. 

“Beka…” Yuri whispered. Otabek wiped his mouth, painfully aware of how hard he was, but also incredibly self-satisfied. He crawled up the bed and laid next to Yuri on his side. 

“I just wanted to say thank you,” Otabek said, as a bit of an explanation, and kissed Yuri on his forehead gently. Yuri’s eyes were heavy and his hair was matted with sweat and he was still the most beautiful thing that Otabek had ever laid his eyes on.

“ _Fuck,_ thank _you,”_ Yuri said, nuzzling closer to Otabek and laying a hand on Otabek’s waist. Otabek wrapped his arms around Yuri, who was warm and still shaking slightly. He was beginning to get lost in the image of Yuri when he felt Yuri’s hand on his dick, and it sent shockwaves through him.

“Your turn,” Yuri grinned sleepily, palming Otabek through his underwear.

“Yura, if you’re tired, you don’t have to—”

Yuri cut him off by thrusting his hand under the elastic and grabbing his cock. A groan slipped out of Otabek from deep within him, and he just nodded as Yuri began to stroke him. Otabek thrust upwards into the tight circle that Yuri was making with his fingers, and kissed Yuri to try to stifle the moans that are trying to escape his mouth. 

The warm pleasure inside Otabek’s abdomen was growing, hot and insistent, so Otabek buried his face in Yuri’s neck. Yuri, on the other hand, was not afraid of making noise and was talking to Otabek gently, and he realized Yuri had been the whole time.

“—yes, Beka. God you feel so _good,_ so warm, _fuck—”_

Otabek thought he might die. Actually, he thought that maybe he was already dead, because nothing in real life had ever felt this fucking good.

Yuri’s hand was slick precome and he thumbed the head of Otabek’s cock. Otabek bit his bottom lip and thrust his hips upwards, involuntarily, into Yuri’s strokes.

“I want to see you come, Beka, I want to hear the noises you make, _god,_ I missed you so fucking much—”

And because Otabek was a hopeless romantic, he came with a whimper when he heard that, spilling out onto over Yuri’s hand. 

Yuri delicately pulled his hand out from Otabek’s underwear. He went to wipe his hands on the bedspread but Otabek grabbed his wrist and licked his fingers clean with a devious glint in his eyes.

“What the _fuck_ , Beka. You’re so fucking gross,” Yuri whispered in disbelief, but the blush on his cheeks as Otabek sucked on his fingers gave him away. Once Otabek was finished, he shrugged.

“I don’t have another change of sheets,” he admitted sheepishly.

“You’re such a fucking _boy,”_ Yuri teased, curling up against Otabek. Otabek wrapped his arm around Yuri and sighed gently, settling in.

They laid in silence for a few minutes, and Otabek listened to the sound of Yuri breathe like it was the only thing he ever wanted to hear for the rest of his life.

“Yura?” Otabek asked suddenly, his eyes going wide.

Yuri just grunted in response.

“Who’s taking care of Potya?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally, am I right?
> 
> This week's chapter title is from P!ATD's [Lying Is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QQ17Tm_qUIE). I thought it was immensely appropriate :)
> 
> See you all next week!


	6. Sleepovers in My Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes, everything is totally fine. I just— god, I should’ve planned this out more. I thought the words would kinda… come out?” Otabek gives Yuri a wobbly smile that isn’t fooling either of them. “Okay. Okay, I’m doing this.”

Yuri and Otabek were laying together in bed, Yuri running his hands through Otabek’s hair lazily as he scrolled through his phone.

After learning that Mila was looking after Potya for the foreseeable future, Yuri had gone to take a shower. Otabek lended him a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt from his Junior days, and, because they were almost the same height, Yuri had not hesitated in raiding his closest because Yuri “only had packed competition clothes.” When Otabek pointed out that Yuri’s impulsiveness was to blame (and that he shouldn’t take it out on Otabek’s closet), and Yuri threw a pair of jeans at him. 

Once both of them had showered, Otabek helped Yuri book a return flight to Russia and figure out their schedule for the days that Yuri was in town. They had decided that Yuri would stay the night, and then one extra day before traveling back to Russia on the coming Thursday. They figured that the faster they could figure out a plan and inform Yakov and Lilya that, “No Otabek had not kidnapped Yuri _again,”_ and “yes, he will be back in three days time, you have our word,” the better.

Otabek wanted to balk at the _again_ comment, because he had not kidnapped Yuri in the _first place,_ but there were more important issues at hand.

Otabek had his first competition in the Grand Prix series in three weeks, so his practice times had ramped up significantly in preparation. Otabek wanted to spend as much time with Yuri as possible, but between costume fittings and workouts and polishing his programs, time was tight. Otabek glanced over at his clock which already read 4:15pm. Otabek still needed to go for a run and stop at the gym for a workout, which he was on his way home to do when he ran into Yuri. Plus, he had extra sessions on the ice the next few days to make up for the time he took off to watch Skate America...

On top of that, there was still the Big Question looming, the one that Phichit had brought up and Otabek had tried so desperately to forget about. But with Yuri literally in his bed, humming quietly as he tapped on his phone screen, Otabek knew that he couldn’t avoid bringing it up any longer. 

Otabek knew what he wanted. He just didn’t know if Yuri felt the same way. 

Otabek’s nerves were buzzing under his skin, and he felt that if he didn’t say something he might spontaneously combust. Trying to hide his anxiety, Otabek pulled Yuri close and buried his face into Yuri’s hair. (Otabek liked this position because he didn’t have to look at Yuri in the eye when he asked.)

Otabek took a deep breath, but Yuri seemed to sense that he was on edge before he could speak. He squirmed in Otabek’s arms.

“What are you thinking about?” Yuri murmured. His words buzzed on Otabek’s chest.

“Um, well, I wanted to ask you something. Just… give me a second to like… Get it out,” Otabek’s voice was barely above a whisper. Yuri pried himself out of Otabek’s arms and scooted up the bed so that he was face to face with Otabek. He held Otabek by the shoulders and looked into his eyes.

“Beka, is everything okay?” Yuri’s eyes shone with concern. 

“Yes! Yes, everything is totally fine. I just— god, I should’ve planned this out more. I thought the words would kinda… come out?” Otabek gave him a wobbly smile that wasn’t fooling either of them. “Okay. Okay, I’m doing this.”

Yuri quirked his head slightly. Otabek still tried to smile reassuringly, despite the gnawing in his stomach.

“Uh, Yuri? Will you be my boyfriend?” Otabek asked shyly.

Yuri blinked in surprise, and then burst out laughing. Otabek was more confused than anything, but he knew enough to know that laughter wasn’t a desired reaction. Otabek sat up on the bed and crossed his arms, trying his best to pout. 

Yuri wiped a tear (a literal tear) from his eye as his fit began to die down. He sat up on the bed as well, and took Otabek’s hands in his own.

“I’m sorry for laughing, Beka,” he said with a twinkle of laughter still in his voice. “I just… I definitely thought that we were already dating.

“I’m, like, a little hurt that you didn’t consider me your boyfriend, but honestly, I’m more amused because you are _so_ oblivious, Beka,” Yuri continued. 

Otabek’s mouth was slightly agape while Yuri was talking, but when he finished, Otabek snapped it shut and narrowed his eyes.

“We never made it official,” Otabek shot back, but then his shoulders drooped glumly and he sighed. “That’s exactly what Phichit said.” 

“That’s true, but we _literally_ just had sex. We also talk every single day on the phone, and I sucked your dick in Barcelona, and _you_ won’t let it go,” Yuri said, poking a finger between Otabek’s eyebrows, which was oddly affectionate for Yuri. 

“Friends can have sex…” Otabek mumbled, feeling a little defeated, because everyone seemed to know that he and Yuri were an item, except for him. Yuri looked at him incredulously.

“No offense, Beka, but are you dumb?”

Otabek figured that deserved that one. But even though his pride was wounded, Otabek felt a heavy weight being lifted off of his chest, because Yuri had said _yes—_ Yuri wanted to be his boyfriend.

Or, he figured, they were already boyfriends. Either way, it seemed like a win-win situation and Otabek would just have to start paying more attention to things.

“So... is that a yes?” Otabek asked slowly. Yuri, who had turned his attention back to his phone as if this conversation was _not_ a big fucking deal, looked up at Otabek with disbelief. Again.

“Yes, you absolute fucking idiot.”

Yuri leaned in to kiss him, and Otabek smiled into Yuri’s lips. The kiss unraveled the knot in Otabek’s stomach, the ones in his shoulders, and Otabek gently cupped the side of Yuri’s face in one hand. Otabek realized that they hadn’t kissed this softly in a while, maybe ever. Otabek and Yuri never really took their time with each other; they were always in a rush, always urgent. 

But this time, they didn’t have anywhere to go, except each other’s arms. Otabek was grinning and it made the kiss a little messy but he didn’t mind, because it was Yuri who was right in front of him, carefully running his hands over Otabek’s skin like it might break if he pressed to hard. And it was Otabek, who was rubbing circles on Yuri’s cheek until Yuri couldn’t help but smile back, and it became impossible to kiss because they couldn’t stop beaming.

So Otabek leaned his forehead against Yuri’s and closed his eyes. For a minute, he reveled in the feeling of being wholly in the moment. For a minute, it was like Otabek took a breath. Looked around. Realized he had nowhere else to be. Realized Yuri wasn’t going anywhere.

—

As it turned out, Otabek actually did have somewhere to be. After he kissed Yuri until their lips were dark and wet, and Otabek was pretty sure that he had run his fingers through each strand of Yuri’s soft, golden hair, Otabek left to make up for the gym session and run he had missed earlier in the evening. 

“Bring back dinner?” Otabek had asked, and Yuri wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement, so he grunted and held a thumbs up as Otabek tied his shoelaces. From his place on Otabek’s bed, Yuri watched Otabek give a small wave before pushing in his earbuds and shutting the door behind him. 

With two hours to kill, Yuri decided that he needed a nap. An international flight, two days of intense competition, a handful of interviews, and incredibly hot sex with his boyfriend-who-wasn’t-really-his-boyfriend-until-a-few-minutes-ago took its toll on Yuri, and he drifted into sleep without so much as a cursory glance at the time. He didn’t set an alarm. 

—

Yuri awoke to the sound of the front door being opened, but then he decided he didn’t want to be awake, so he rolled over pulled Otabek’s comforter over his head.

Otabek must have noticed Yuri stirring, because Yuri heard footsteps enter the bedroom and flick on a light.

“Yura? I’m back,” Otabek’s voice was soft. Yuri groaned and threw back the comforter, and light-flooded his senses. He rubbed his eyes until his vision adjusted, and then he turned and glared at Otabek, because even though Otabek’s hair was still wet and spiked up a little in the front (and it was exceptionally cute) Otabek had made the mistake of waking Yuri up. 

“I brought Chinese food?” Otabek tried, leaning against the door frame. As if on cue, Yuri’s stomach growled. Realizing he only had the energy to be mad at thing at a time, Yuri sat up on the bed and pulled his hair into a ponytail, grumbling something that sounded like, _“You better have brought me wontons.”_

Otabek just shrugged and walked out into his kitchen, obviously very accustomed to Yuri’s just-woken-up attitude. Yuri followed close behind him, yawning and trying to blink the grogginess from his eyes. He was grumpy, but the smell of takeout helped to stave off his mood. He helped Otabek unpack the food from the styrofoam containers and, to his delight, Otabek _had_ brought back wonton soup. Yuri was touched, and he almost felt bad for his bad temper earlier. Almost.

They ate at Otabek’s counter, which Yuri soon learned was the place that Otabek ate most of his meals.

“That, or the couch,” Otabek said this with a mouth full of lo-mein, and Yuri had to laugh. The meal was so different than the ones he had with Lilya, at the dining room table with matching plates and silverware and absolutely no phones. Otabek, on the other hand, owned exactly three plates of different sizes, a single bowl, a handful of metal and plastic cutlery, and a mug that was strictly for coffee (the rest of his drinks were served in reusable water bottles, which Otabek had collected during his years as a pro-skater). Halfway through dinner, Otabek remembered a funny video that he had been meaning to show Yuri, so they watched it over their noodles, propping up Otabek’s phone on a container of rice.

They settled into a light conversation, Yuri asking Otabek about his day, Otabek asking Yuri about the competition and the banquet. At one point, Otabek took Yuri’s hand under the counter as they ate, and even though Yuri teased him about the countless cliches they were committing, Yuri didn’t let go.

Yuri found himself at ease when he talked to Otabek. He had noticed it when they talked on the phone, but in person, it was even more pronounced. Yuri laughed more than usual, and Otabek told more stories. Though the two of them talked every single day, they didn’t run out of things to talk about, even after the containers of rice had been emptied and thrown into the garbage. 

When it was nearing 10:30, Yuri tried to stifle a yawn and failed miserably.

“Already?” Otabek raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “You just woke up.”

“Shut up, asshole,” Yuri shot back. “I’m _jet-lagged._ ”

Otabek shrugged, a habit of his that Yuri had, over time, learned meant that Yuri had made a good point and Otabek had no retort. Yuri’s belligerent spirit was vindicated with every subtle lift of Otabek’s shoulders.

For good measure, Yuri stuck his tongue out at Otabek.

Otabek got up from his stool and began to wipe down the counter with a sponge, which baffled Yuri, because here was a man who only owned one pair of sheets, and a handful of kitchenware, and also insisted on cleaning off every surface before and after eating. His boyfriend was a walking contradiction, and Yuri wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Gonna go brush my teeth,” Yuri said. He pushed away from the counter, his stool scraping against Otabek’s hardwood floor. As he walked away, he muttered, “And thanks for the food,” under his breath, half-hoping that Otabek wouldn’t catch it, and half-hoping that he would.

That’s why Yuri liked that Otabek: Yuri was a bit of a paradox himself. 

Yuri got ready for bed, stealing both Otabek’s toothpaste and hairbrush because they were boyfriends now and Yuri assumed that was part of the deal. Yuri left long blond wisps snagged in the bristles of Otabek’s flat brush, so Yuri collected them and threw them away because he was also a respectful boyfriend. He had just finished his extensive, seven-step Korean skincare routine, when he stepped out of the bathroom and saw Otabek arranging pillows and in a blanket onto his sofa. 

“What the everloving _fuck_ are you doing, Beka?” Yuri asked.

“I’m setting up my bed?” Otabek’s eyebrows knit in confusion.

“I...” Yuri trailed off with a groan, rubbing his temples. He did not have the mental capacity to explain to Otabek how dumb he was. Otabek and Yuri were _dating_ , which meant that they could sleep in the same. Fucking. Bed.

Yuri told Otabek as much, and all Otabek could say was _oh_ and bury his face in his hands from embarrassment. Yuri felt a twinge of regret, so he moved closer to Otabek and put a hand on Otabek’s arm.

“I love you, Beka, it’s just, sometimes, you’re such an absolute dumbass—”

Yuri cut himself off and hastily stepped back as if poked by something hot. The full realization of what had slipped out of his mouth was settling in front of him, and Yuri wanted nothing more than to sprint out the door and swim across the entire Atlantic Ocean.

Damn his mouth, damn his thoughts, damn his impulsive brain that had thought it was a good idea to spontaneously travel to Detroit only to blurt out the _L-word_ mere _hours_ after Otabek and Yuri had started dating. Yuri could hear the blood rushing in his head, and he wondered how mad Yakov would be if he drowned himself in the ocean instead of swimming. 

While his thoughts ran circles around his head, Yuri watched for Otabek’s reaction. Yuri figured that he would decide whether to run or throw himself into the closest body of water when he heard what Otabek had to say. Maybe he would look at Yuri in disgust. Maybe he would break up with Yuri on the spot, which Yuri would completely understand, because who says “I love you” on the first date? Maybe Otabek would say it back, and that scared Yuri the most.

But luckily, it seemed like some omnipotent being was watching over him, because Otabek didn’t catch Yuri’s accidental confession. Instead removed his hands from his face and looked remorsefully at the couch.

“You have a point,” was all he said before removing the blankets he had tucked into the corners of the couch. 

Yuri silently thanked the god who had temporarily made Otabek deaf to Yuri’s idiotic ramblings, and decided that he would go to church with Lilya the next time she asked.

Fifteen minutes later, the blankets and pillows were rearranged on Otabek’s bed and Yuri was tucked under the sheets for what was probably the third time that day. Otabek came out of the bathroom wearing only his underwear, which made Yuri’s heart do a little flip. Otabek turned off the lightswitch and set a few alarms on his phone before sliding under the covers and curling up next to Yuri. 

Yuri snuggled closer to Otabek, so that his forehead was just under Otabek’s chin and their bodies were pressed together. 

“Night,” Yuri whispered into Otabek’s skin.

“Goodnight, Yura,” Otabek said, and then kissed the top of Yuri’s hair.

Sleep did not come easily, as is for all new couples sharing a bed for the first time. Yuri pressed his lips against Otabek’s and that led to them making out for a bit. Then, cuddling got too hot so Yuri threw off all of his covers, but then it became cold again and Yuri opted for curling under the top sheet. He tried holding hands with Otabek, because he liked the physical touch, but then someone’s hand got sweaty (who’s to say which one of them) and they were forced to let go and wipe their clammy palms on the sheets.

Eventually, they settled for spooning. Yuri was opposed to being the little spoon at first, but then Otabek told him to pretend that he was Yuri’s jetpack, and that made them both giggle. Finally, an hour after they had gotten into bed, Yuri finally felt sleep beginning to take him. 

But alas, Otabek shifted. Yuri tried to ignore it, but Otabek shifted again, and Yuri could tell something was on his mind, because Otabek got all quiet and shifty whenever he wanted to say something.

“Beka,” Yuri groaned. “What is it?”

The shifting behind him stilled.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re keeping me awake with all of your fucking moving. So spit it out. I wanna sleep.”

Otabek sighed and leaned his head gently on Yuri’s shoulder, peering over at him. Yuri looked him in the eye, trying to hold his tongue and be patient.

“Yura. I love you too.”

Yuri’s eyes went wide, because, for a moment, he wasn’t sure if what he heard was his imagination. But then Otabek started rambling, and Yuri pulled himself out of his reverie to listen.

“You don’t have to say it back. I mean. You already did. Say it. It. I love you. You know, earlier. I’m sorry I didn’t say it earlier— I just was trying to process it and I didn’t know if it was a mistake—”

Yuri rolled his eyes and cut Otabek off with a kiss. He knew that if he didn’t, Otabek would’ve talked himself into a hole and even Yuri wouldn’t have been able to dig him out. Plus, Yuri wanted to tell Otabek that it wasn’t a mistake. It was a little impulsive and it slipped out amidst an insult, but that didn’t mean that Yuri hadn’t been thinking it for the past few days. Months, even.

But Yuri had never been good with words, so he decided to show Otabek instead.

They kissed softly, and then more deeply, and then Yuri adjusted to that he was on top of Otabek, and Yuri pulled down his underwear and Otabek did the same. They kissed as Yuri took Otabek’s cock into his hand and Otabek grabbed Yuri’s. They kissed as they stroked each other, slowly, then with vigor and desperation. They kissed as they came, one after the other, onto each other’s stomachs and they laughed through the kiss.

They kissed in the bathroom, where Otabek and Yuri took their second showers of the day, and they kissed when they got back into bed, purposefully not checking the time because they knew it was late. Later than they should’ve stayed up.

But they kissed under the covers anyway, until they both were too tired to kiss and they finally, finally fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's chapter title was inspired by Hayley Kiyoko's song [Sleepover](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W6jxPFtIAnw)! It's a gay love anthem which is heartbreakingly sweet. 
> 
> This slice-of-life chapter was brought to you by headcanons, boys being boys, and as many tropes as I could fit in this one little chapter. Much love, and see you all next week!


	7. I'll Be The First Thing You See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri has always imagined that waking up next to someone he loved would be magical.

Yuri had always imagined that waking up next to someone he loved would be magical. He would roll over, slowly blinking open his eyes, and be greeted with a picture-perfect view of the man sleeping next to him, bathed in the golden sun that flowed through the blinds. Yuri would awaken his lover with a chaste kiss, on the neck, maybe, and then when the other man woke up, the first thing he saw would beYuri’s angelic face above him. He would smile lazily, before taking Yuri into his arms and kissing him deeply.

But as Otabek’s alarm blared loudly at the ass crack of dawn, Yuri realized that mornings were the exact same no matter who shared his bed.

Yuri felt Otabek shift, fumble around for his phone until the alarm turned off, mutter something, and then go back to snoring in the span of five seconds. Yuri tried to hide under the pillow, but since Otabek only owned one (what a fucking _boy_ ) and his head was taking up more than half, Yuri ended up yanking the pillow out from under Otabek. Otabek sighed and smacked Yuri lightly, and then reluctantly sat up on the bed. 

It was still dark outside, so Otabek flicked on his bedside lamp. Yuri groaned as his senses were flooded with light.

“Yura,” Otbaek mumbled, less of a greeting and more of a statement of fact. Yuri was in no mood to communicate, so he shoved the pillow over his head and desperately tried to grasp the sleepiness that was starting to escape.

“S’time,” Otabek said. 

Apparently, Otabek was monosyllabic in the morning, but it didn’t matter; the sound of another human’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard to Yuri, despite it coming from his boyfriend.

From under the pillow, Yuri held up a hand to signify _five more minutes._ His head was swimming with drowsiness, but he thought he heard the bed creak as Otabek got up. Yuri felt an instantaneous relief at the thought of extra sleep, but he was only able to enjoy it for a few seconds before he drifted off again.

He was awoken mere moments by the pillow being pried off of his head. Yuri instantly felt contempt for Otabek, because he assumed that anyone who had the _audacity_ to rouse him from the sweet release of unconsciousness deserved nothing less than all seven circles of hell.

But Otabek was no stranger to waking up Yuri Plisetsky. In the past few months, Yuri had called Otabek the moment his alarm went off, so often Otabek had the unpleasant job of making sure Yuri got up and stayed that way. Over time, Otabek had learned the way that his boyfriend reacted to mornings, so he was well versed in Yuri’s scowls, and could easily understand the grunts and groans that Yuri substituted for language when he wanted to fight for a few extra minutes of sleep.

Yuri was just about to start cursing when he felt Otabek’s lips press onto his cheek. One of Otabek’s hands threaded into Yuri’s hair and began to gently comb through the strands, and he sighed in delight. 

Yuri softened at the touch. He opened his eyes just enough to squint at Otabek, who was leaning over him with an affectionate look on his face. Otabek was lit from behind by the lamp he’d turned on earlier, and it was a dull yellow halo, muted and warm— almost ethereal.

Yuri decided that, maybe, he’d been a little quick to judge mornings. 

— 

The world didn’t change when Yuri started dating Otabek Altin. The stars didn’t shine any brighter, the wind didn’t feel any softer on his face. In many ways, the world was the exact same as it had been the day before. 

But even though lightning hadn’t rained down from the sky to announce to the world their new partnership, there were some things that were new. Yuri wasn’t used to feeling so secure. He had told another person that he loved them, and Yuri didn’t do that often, even with his own family. Even better, Otabek had said it _back._

Otabek loved him back, and while the Earth continued to turn, Yuri finally felt that he wasn’t floating or spiraling or drifting anymore— there was someone holding his hand, keeping him anchored to the ground.

But then again, some things were the same, and Yuri still hated mornings.

That morning, when the kissing and touching and cuddling ended, Yuri’s sour mood returned. Yuri hid until the covers until Otabek was forced to physically drag him from the bed and shove him into the bathroom, where, embarrassingly, he had to check to make sure Yuri had not fallen asleep on the toilet.

Yuri hadn’t. He was just resting his eyes for like, one minute.

He and Otabek both got dressed from Otabek’s closet, mostly because Yuri’s suitcase proved all but useless when they had scoured it for anything remotely wearable. After a brief inventory, Yuri had discovered that he only had a set of Team Russia warm-ups, and two clean socks that didn’t match, a few pairs of underwear (which, _thank god,_ because he and Otabek were not at the underwear-sharing stage of their relationship and Yuri didn’t know if they would ever be). Otabek didn’t say anything, he just simply added “Laundromat” to his list of To-Dos for the week.

Luckily, Yuri did have the sense to pack sneakers, so he accompanied Otabek on his morning run. A light fog was lifting as they stepped out of Otabek’s apartment building, the sidewalk illuminated by street lights that hadn’t turned off for the night.

They ran through some streets in Otabek’s neighborhood, Yuri following closely behind Otabek’s sure steps. As they ran, Yuri’s muscles began to loosen and he started to feel the heavy drowsiness from earlier begin to dissipate off of his skin like droplets of water.

As Yuri ran, he drifted into thought. Not a lot had changed since Otabek had asked Yuri to be his boyfriend. Yuri took stock of his hands— they looked the same, and the slap of his shoes on the pavement was a familiar rhythm that kept in time with his breath.

But he was running behind Otabek, his boyfriend, and there was something to be said for that.

Eventually, they reached a park near a large bridge and the two of them slowed to a walk. 

“This is Gabriel Richard Park. I’m not really sure who it’s named after,” Otabek explained. “I would come here a lot in the summer.”

Yuri nodded thoughtfully. Even though the sun hadn’t fully risen, and the autumn wind was beginning to bare its teeth, Yuri still could imagine Otabek sitting in the park, peacefully, soaking in the quiet noise of the city. It made him smile for the first time that morning.

Before Yuri could get too sentimental, however, a pigeon startled him out of his daydream by taking off _very close_ to him, and Otabek had to forcibly restrain his boyfriend from getting into a physical altercation with the bird. The pigeon just sat on a nearby bench and stared at the two of them with his head cocked curiously as they wrestled. 

The world hadn’t changed when Yuri and Otabek started dating, and Yuri was just fine with that.

—

After the pigeon incident, Otabek and Yuri decided it was time to head home.

They ate breakfast, one after the other, because Otabek only owned a single cereal bowl. Yuri changed into his Team Russia warm-ups, and they headed out. Otabek gave him a kiss before he opened the front door, and Yuri melted a little bit inside.

They rode on Otabek’s motorcycle to the rink. Yuri had only been on it a handful of times, and it always sent a jolt of adrenaline down his spine when he felt the engine purr beneath him. They flew down the twisting side streets of Detroit, and Yuri rested his head on Otabek’s shoulder. 

Otabek parked his bike outside of the rink, and the two men made their way to the locker rooms to lace up their skates. As Yuri pulled back his hair, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of trepidation. He knew that he would be intruding on Otabek’s practice time, and he didn’t know how Otabek’s coach would react. Skipping town to practice in Hasetsu was one thing, because he had simply been following Victor at the time. Since Yuri was showing up, practically unannounced at his competitor’s home rink without the permission of Yakov, Yuri didn’t know what to expect.

Right before they exited the locker rooms, Yuri grabbed Otabek’s sleeve and tugged.

Otabek turned around, furrowing his brow.

“What’s up?” he asked with concern in his voice. Yuri just looked at the ground and scuffed the toe of his skate on the ground.

“Nothing. I don’t know. I just… Maybe I shouldn’t be here.”

“Yura, Celestino is really nice. He doesn’t care, I promise.”

Yuri didn’t believe him, and it showed on his face. Otabek sighed and pulled out his phone.

“I texted him last night. Look,” he said, holding it out so Yuri could see. Yuri squinted at the messages and then nodded.

Otabek had gotten permission for Yuri to join Otabek during his practice time the night before, so Celestino did not bat an eye when Yuri stomped onto the rink with Otabek in tow. At Celestino’s suggestion, had arrived earlier than Otabek’s normally-scheduled practice time, so that the famous Yuri Plisetsky would not distract the other club skaters, either. Yuri also speculated that it also might have been to give him and Otabek some privacy, but who was he to say.

“Thank you again for accommodating us,” Otabek said as they entered. Celestino just nodded and extended his hand to Yuri, who had to force down his first instinct to scoff, and then his second to scowl. He shook Celestino’s hand, trying his best to fake a smile, even though he hated talking to adults. 

“Yuri’s arrival was a bit…” Otabek trailed off, obviously trying to phrase Yuri’s spontaneous trip in a more polite way than was the truth. 

“It was a surprise,” Yuri admitted. Celestino looked between the two of them, and Yuri thought he saw a knowing smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Of course, Beka,” Celestino said, breaking into a large grin. “You’ve been nothing but a model skater, and this was no trouble, anyhow.”

Yuri heard the familiar nickname and felt himself warm up to Celestino. He wasn’t sure why he had initially been nervous to see the man again, it wasn’t like he minded Yuri intruding.

“But, just know that I won’t be able to coach you, Yuri. My attention will be with this one,” he cocked his head in Otabek’s direction. Yuri nodded.

“Also,” he added, still smiling widely. “If you do anything to distract Otabek, or you so much as break his focus in the slightest, I will ban you from this rink and every other ice skating rink within a 50-mile radius.” 

A shiver ran down Yuri’s spine. He nodded again, more slowly this time, and backed away until he was on the ice. Yuri could still see Celestino smiling as he turned around and sprinted to the other side of the rink.

—

Yuri started out by running through his short program, headphones plugged in as he marked choreography and more complicated step sequences. That morning, Yuri had decided to practice his quadruple lutz— the very same jump which he had stepped out of during Skate America. Yuri was still kicking himself for the mistake, and he knew Yakov would make him drill the jump until his heels bled or he passed out from vertigo, so Yuri figured that he could get a head start on the process.

He began from the step sequence that lead into the jump and ran it, over and over, until he was able to perfectly execute both the combo and the quad without batting an eye. Because Yuri had decided to make his life a personal hell by increasing the number of quads in the second half of his program (with a quad-triple combo), it was good to practice the jump when he was tired and out of breath, a rough simulation of the conditions he would be facing when he competed in the short program. 

Yuri had set his phone down on the concrete wall of the rink and was about to practice his program, full out, when Otabek called him from the other side of the ice. The noise made Yuri jump; he’d been so lost in his program that he forgot he wasn’t alone.

Yuri skated over to where Otabek and Celestino were talking quietly. 

“I’m gonna go on break,” Otabek said. “Your jumps looked great.” 

Celestino nodded and Otabek stepped off the ice to sit by his water bottle. Yuri was confused, and he was anxious to get back to practicing his program. 

“While Beka is on break, you’re going to run your short program. I’m glad I was able to catch you before you started over there, because I watched your performance at Skate America. I have some notes,” Celestino said. He pulled out a notebook and held out his hand. “I assume you have your music on your phone?”

“Uh, yeah— yes, but...” Yuri sputtered. He was taken aback by Celestino’s proposition. Yuri had only ever trained under Yakov and, briefly, Lilya, and he knew nothing about Celestino’s coaching style. He was about to refuse when he caught Otabek’s eye. Otabek gave him a thumbs up and mouthed _davai,_ which had slowly become their thing over the year. It helped Yuri relax.

“Um, nevermind. Here,” Yuri unlocked his phone and handed it to Celestino, who plugged it into the stereo. 

“Alright, just run it at, say, 95%. Ready?” Celestino’s voice rang out as Yuri skated to the center of the ice. 

“Yeah,” Yuri responded, but Celestino already had a pen out and was writing something into his notebook. Yuri scowled, angry that stand-in was already not paying attention.

The music started, and Yuri performed his program. Once he was finished, he skated back over to Celestino, a sheen of sweat on his forehead starting to drip down his face.

Celestino made no mention of “good” or “bad” or, as Yakov would say, “worse than his drunken baba.” He simply launched into his notes, occasionally stepping onto the ice to demonstrate a move or manipulate Yuri’s arms and legs.

As Celestino spoke, Yuri realized that Celestino was the opposite of inattentive. For only having seen his program a handful of times, Yuri was impressed at the amount of detail Celestino was able to remember and comment upon. 

The types of notes he gave were incredibly different than the ones he got from Yakov and Lilya. Whereas the two Russian professionals focused on technique, Celestino tried to make Yuri really _think_ about the musicality of the program. He suggested that Yuri tried to elongate his arm here, or hold this pose for a split second longer there— not to get off count, but to push the limits of the music, stretch the possibilities of his movements, and create feelings of suspense and intrigue. 

Yakov had always been a stickler for counts, and Yuri had grown up setting his movements to precise numbers, fourths and eighths and, if he was moving particularly fast, sixteenths. Yakov also valued clean technique in a program over the lyrical meaning behind it, and it had taken Yuri years to overcome his programs looking “too stiff.” 

Counts and technique were important to Celestino too, but he had coached his skaters to be aware of where their technique was lacking (which Yuri was able to do, because he was a _professional_ ). Instead, Celestino pushed his students to think about the power of their movement: how a crook of his head might convey something different than the flick of his fingers, for instance. Yuri took it in, a little overwhelmed by the newness of it all, a little excited by the challenge. He ran his short program twice more, making a few more technical errors but earning an approving nod from Celestino.

“The emotion was better this time,” Celestino told him as he finished. He said it so nonchalantly that he may as well have been ordering coffee. But to Yuri, outright praise was rare and made his heart skip a beat. He practically beamed only kind of terrified of how much he wanted the man’s approval.

“Alright, take a break,” Celestino smiled back. “Beka, you’re on!” 

Yuri stepped off the ice and walked over to the benches where Otabek sat. Otabek had filled up Yuri’s water bottle while he was on break because _of course he did_ , and Yuri took it from him with a grin that he hoped Otabek knew meant _thank you_ and _I love you_ and _you’re too good for me_ all at once.

Otabek squeezed Yuri’s shoulder as he stood up, a subtle display of affection but it was enough to make Yuri’s face flush. 

Yuri plopped down on the bench and took a sip of water. He hoping to see one of Otabek’s programs, which Otabek had _annoyingly_ been keeping a secret the entire season. When they talked on the phone, Otabek would mention the generalities of what he’d done in practice, stuff like: _I learned a pretty tough step combo today,_ or, _Celestino made me skate circles around the rink for an hour to improve my stamina,_ but never anything specific. It was driving Yuri crazy. Whereas Otabek had been instrumental in his programs, Yuri didn’t even know Otabek’s theme for the season. 

It bothered Yuri to no end, but he knew that Otabek was keeping it a secret for a reason. And it seemed that today would finally be the day that Yuri was able to see what Otabek had been working on for the past few months.

Yuri edged forward on his seat. He pulled out his phone to try to look nonchalant, but he was really trying to eavesdrop on Celestino and Otabek, who were consulting something in Celestino’s notebook. When he couldn’t hear anything, Yuri tried to read their lips in small, furtive glances.

Yuri would look up from his phone every few seconds, pretending to stretch or read a sign, in the hopes of catching a scrap of the conversation. But after a minute, the secrecy grew tiresome and Yuri was impatient. So he set his phone down and settled for just flat out staring. 

After what felt like hours, Otabek skated out onto the center of the ice. Celestino began to count him in, clapping on rhythm to the numbers he was shouting, and Yuri’s breath caught in his throat. 

_This is it_ , Yuri thought to himself excitedly. He was _finally_ going to see his boyfriend in action. Otabek was undeniably hot on the ice, and Yuri looked forward to every chance he got to watch him skate.

Otabek took off…

… and started off with a single toe loop. Yuri was confused at first until he realized that Otabek was not performing his program and was drilling his jumps in a ladder (building the number of rotations up and down). A brutal exercise, no doubt, but Yuri was disappointed.

He slumped down on the bench and scowled.

— 

The rest of the practice followed the same pattern. Otabek would go on break, Yuri would skate, Yuri would go on break, Otabek took to the ice, Yuri would get his hopes up, and then Otabek would practice a fraction of a step sequence over and over until Yuri wanted to poke his own eyes out from boredom. 

Three hours went by like that, and finally, Celestino let them go with a wave, already scratching in his notebook (no doubt planning for another practice). 

Otabek and Yuri were both sweaty from practice, so they took the liberty to shower. While they were there under the spray, they _also_ took the liberty of making out for a little bit. Yuri traced the lines of the water on Otabek’s arms, and Otabek buried his face into Yuri’s collarbone and made lazy circles with his tongue, and Yuri whispered into Otabek’s ear. 

When they were out of the locker rooms, towels around their necks to catch the water that dripped from their hair, Yuri nudged Otabek with his elbow.

“Don’t you, like, ever get tired of those exercises?” Yuri asked. He knew that he would probably die from the repetition of it all, the exercises that he watched Otabek complete without a word of complaint.

Otabek tilted his head. 

“What exercises?” he countered.

“Ya’know. The ones Celestino had you drilling during my breaks. I would rather cut myself on my fucking skates than do all of _that,”_ Yuri said, because it was true.

Otabek looked confused for a second and then chuckled softly.

“Those weren’t drills, Yura. That was part of my free program,” he said, his eyes dancing. Yuri felt a wave of nausea hit him as he realized what he’d said.

“Shit, oh god, I didn’t mean to insult your program, I just thought, fuck...” Yuri fumbled for an explanation. He felt horrible and he didn’t know what to say, so the words just tumbled out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry, Beka, I didn’t know, god,” Yuri's stomach sank.

Otabek paused for a moment. 

“Nah, I’m just kidding.”

“You ASSHOLE! I can’t believe I felt _bad—”_

“Celestino had me start tapering a few days ago, so I didn’t run my programs. It was pretty boring, and I almost did cut myself with my skates to get out of it,” Otabek had the audacity to _smirk_. Yuri’s mouth dropped open. 

He smacked Otabek, because he was fucking _pissed._ And then, in an odd turn of events, he kissed Otabek on the cheek.

“What was that for?” Otabek grinned.

“Dumbass. Because I’m mad at you. But also, it _was_ kind of funny, so, like, fuck you,” Yuri said, trying his best to pout and suppress the laughter bubbling up inside of him. 

No matter how mad he was, Yuri always ended up laughing with Otabek. 

— 

They were walking out the front door when they ran into Phichit and three other skaters that Yuri had never seen before.

Phichit’s eyes widened for a moment, and then he jumped on Yuri with a hug.

Yuri looked around wildly.

“Beka,” he hissed. “Help. Me.”

“YURI PLISETSKY! Oh my god! When you called, I didn’t think— What are you _doing_ here?” Phichit yelled into Yuri’s ear, which made him cringe.

“None of your business,” he scoffed. Phichit was obviously undeterred by Yuri’s iciness, and he just laughed and pulled away from the hug.

“It’s great to see you. We all watched your short program together at my house. You were amazing. You totally deserved first place! I can’t wait to compete against you!” he said brightly. 

Yuri muttered a quick _thanks_ , and was equally thankful when Phichit turned his attention to Otabek.

“Don’t you have on-ice later?”

Otabek nodded.

“I shifted my schedule since Yura— Yuri was visiting,” Otabek said. He gave a small wave to the three teens behind Phichit, who were gaping at Yuri. “Hi Josephine, hi Ben. Hey Maya.”

So Otabek knew these people? Yuri was more surprised than anything, because Otabek had never mentioned anyone other than Phichit at the skate club. In fact, Yuri didn’t even know that Otabek had more friends beside him, and he for a moment he felt fiercely protective of Otabek.

But then, Yuri remembered that they were dating, and he calmed down quickly.

“Guys, this is Yuri,” Otabek continued, placing his hand lightly on Yuri’s lower back. The gesture was platonic at best, and Yuri fought the urge to shy away from the touch. 

“He’s my—” Otabek paused for a split second, almost imperceptibly, but Yuri noticed. “—good friend. And he’s visiting for a few days.”

Yuri’s temper flared. His head spun as he tried to figure out why the _actual fuck_ Otabek had called him a _friend_ . A friend _._ After _Otabek_ was the one to ask Yuri to be his boyfriend.

Did he misspeak? Or was there something else that Otabek wasn’t telling him?

Was Otabek _embarrassed_ to call Yuri his boyfriend?

Yuri glared at Otabek, who was already bowling ahead. Otabek was talking a mile a minute, faster than Yuri had ever heard him speak, and it was then that Yuri realized he might have misconstrued Otabek’s relationship with the other members of the club.

Yuri tried to reason with himself. Maybe Otabek was just nervous, and had just accidentally referred to Yuri as a friend. Or maybe Otabek wasn’t ready to tell Phichit about their burgeoning relationship, because the whole thing was fairly new, Yuri had to admit.

Yuri filed it away under things to be mad about later, because he was in a very public situation and there were three other strangers that were, presently, pointing at Yuri and whispering.

Phichit and Otabek seemed to be having their own private conversation, so Yuri put up his hood and scowled. He began to inch his way to Otabek’s motorcycle, trying to avoid talking to the other teenagers that Otabek had called Maya, Ben, and Josephine. Yuri thought they had a _Yuri’s Angels_ look about them, and he didn’t want anything to do with it. 

“Excuse me, Mr. Plisetsky? Could I possibly take a photo with you?” 

Yuri heard a voice from behind him, and he quickly prayed that he would be smited on the spot before he had to talk to the person who asked to take his picture.

But when he turned around, very much un-smited, he was greeted by a girl about his age, with dark skin and braces. She had short hair, about the same length as Yuri’s, and it was braided into neat rows on her head.

“Uh, sure. Which one are you?” Yuri asked brusquely. The girl seemed to be cut from the same cloth as Phichit’s, because Yuri’s rudeness didn’t phase her one bit. She smiled.

“I’m Josephine. Jo for short,” she said.

“Okay, we can take a pic. Just don’t ever call me Mr. Plisetsky again, cause it’s stupid and we’re like, the same age,” Yuri said. “Just call me Yuri.”

“Okay, Yuri,” Jo smiled playfully.

“By the way, you aren’t a total dick like everyone says,” she added casually, digging around in her bag for her phone.

So, Jo could bite back. Yuri liked her already.

“Let’s use mine. Better camera,” Yuri said, pulling out his phone.

They took a few selfies, and exchanged numbers so Yuri could share the pictures with her. Jo called over Maya and Ben, and they introduced themselves with wide eyes and politely asked to take pictures with him as well.

Yuri liked the other two significantly less than Jo, because they _fawned_ over him _,_ but they soon realized they all had a mutual interest of being obsessed with the mystery that was Otabek Altin. 

Yuri never said he was obsessed, per se, but he did let slip that Otabek was one of his few close friends. (That was a lie. Otabek was his only friend.)

“Fun fact, he’s actually kind of an idiot,” Yuri told them conspiratorially. “He just hides it by like, never showing emotion on his face.”

Jo, Maya, and Ben all burst out laughing, and Yuri felt a burst of pride. The four of them talked for a little, and Yuri found it surprisingly easy. He learned that they were all 16, just like he was, and that they had been training to be professional skaters since they were young. None of them had left the Detroit rink, but they did travel around the US for major competitions. 

Yuri told them that he hoped they would one day meet in a competition, and he was surprised to find that he actually meant it. Yuri began to realize that his lack of friends may have been due to the fact that he never got the opportunity to meet people _his own age._ He set about rectifying that fact by getting Maya and Ben’s numbers and adding them to his phone.

Otabek caught his eye and made a motion that told Yuri he was ready to go, so he threw up peace signs at Maya, Ben, and Jo before jogging after Otabek.

“Was I mistaken, or did I just see _the_ Yuri Plisetsky talking to other people and smiling?” Otabek teased when Yuri caught up to him.

“Shut up fuck up,” Yuri groaned. “You abandoned me. What was I going to do?”

“Kick them, for one,” Otabek deadpanned. 

Yuri snorted, which made Otabek laugh, and when Otabek laughed Yuri was always close behind. By the time they reached Otabek’s motorcycle, they were a giggling mess.

Yuri’s phone pinged. He pulled it out, furrowing his brow slightly.

“I was just added to a groupchat?” Yuri thumbed his phone and opened the message.

A second later, Otabek’s phone buzzed too.

—

 _yuri P_ joined “Otabek Altin Fan Club”

 _Otabek-altin_ joined “Otabek Altin Fan Club”

 **yuri P:** hey everyone

 **yuri P:** hello beka

 **phichit+chu:** omg!!

 **Phichit+chu:** beka

 **Otabek-altin:** no one really calls me that guys

 **Jojo F:** beka

 **Ben-jamin:** beka

 **Maya_Sharps:** beka

 **yuri P:** lol beka

 _phichit+chu_ changed the group name to “beka”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's chapter is brought to you by: [Bruno Major!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TiQqA9z59E8)
> 
> Honestly... this chapter was ~~a little~~ a lot self-indulgent. I projected all my hatred of mornings on to my bby Yuri, and tried my hand at writing _actual_ ice skating. Next chapter gets a little more serious, so I wanted to write my boys just being boys for a morning. I hope you all enjoyed this week and I'll see you next week!


	8. Just Because It Won't Come Easily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri’s face grows hot and tears begin to well in his eyes. Otabek is just looking at him, his mouth hanging open slightly, so Yuri curses quietly, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. Otabek’s face is all the damning confirmation he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tags for this chapter :)

“I’m gonna throw away my phone.”

“Relax, Beka. Be happy that I’m making friends,” Yuri said, tapping out a reply on his phone. Ben had just sent a particularly good joke in the group chat, and Yuri _needed_ to tell him _that instant_ how hilarious it was. 

“My phone. Is buzzing. So much. I don’t. Know what. To do,” Otabek said, stressing each syllable. “I never get this many messages. I think my phone might combust or something.”

Otabek held his phone aloft. “Oh my god, it’s  _ hot.  _ That can’t be good. Yura, why is my phone hot?!”

Yuri knew that Otabek, unlike many teenagers, was not a fan of his phone or technology in general. He put up with it because he liked to talk to Yuri, but ever since they had been added to Phichit’s group chat (which had been renamed many times, and was currently titled the “Beka support squad”), both of their phones had been going off nonstop. Yuri tried not to pay too much attention to it, because he only had the one day to spend with Otabek, but he also really, really liked his phone.

Sometimes, it was hard being 16.

After Yuri and Otabek left practice, they biked to a Jewish deli that Otabek frequented and enjoyed a meal of eastern European comfort food. Yuri liked it a lot, even though he was a snob when it came to cooking, because obviously nothing compared to his dedushka’s. But it was close.

Next, Otabek took Yuri shopping under the pretense of replacing the tank top that Otabek had accidentally ripped in Barcelona. It was then that Yuri learned that Otabek Altin, his boyfriend, was fucking  _ loaded.  _

Before that day, Yuri had never really thought about the amount of money that people had. He was comfortable enough, monetarily, from his sponsorships as well Lilya supporting him and housing him. Yuri was comfortable enough not to have to think about it constantly, or buy a new jacket if one caught his eye, or even book a spontaneous flight to visit a friend. Dedushka had always taught Yuri that talking about money was impolite, so he never brought it up with his friends. Plus, he was young and lucky; money was not an everyday concern of his.

It was only when they walked into the store that Yuri discovered how rich Otabek really was. To even say it was a store would be a mischaracterization; no, Otabek had brought them to a boutique. A high-end, men’s fashion _ boutique. _

The room was modestly decorated, showcasing their few items which probably cost more money than Yuri had ever held in his tiny bank account. There were mannequins dressed in chic blazers, stylish boots from name brands that Yuri only recognized from Instagram, and even those fancy satchel-backpack things that young millionaires wore to work. 

Yuri snapped his arms to his sides, lest he accidentally touch the merchandise with his peasant's hands. A middle-aged man in a button-up, cuffed khakis, suspenders, and mustache that was like, perfectly twisted in a handlebar shape and curled on the ends. 

“Welcome to  _ Via del Corso. _ May I take your coats?” he asked, holding out a hand. Yuri clutched his coat protectively to himself and frantically looked at Otabek for help.

Otabek smiled ( _ smiled!!)  _ and offered a polite “No thank you, we’re just looking.” The man nodded and walked back behind the front desk, no doubt keying into the security cameras so that he could spy on Yuri— who looked very out of place— while he shopped.

Otabek led Yuri to a display of blazers and began to sift through them. He seemed at ease in the store, moving around the space with the confidence only someone who was accustomed to shopping in boutiques would have. Yuri watched him, eyes wide.

“Beka,” he hissed, glancing over to see if mustache-man was watching them. “I can’t fucking afford any of this. We need to leave before that guy—” Yuri jerked his head in the direction of the clerk, “—accuses me of stealing or something.” 

Otabek didn’t look at him, just continued to flip through the rack.

“Don’t worry about paying. This one’s on me,” he said, nonchalantly grabbing one of the hangers and holding it up in front of Yuri. 

Otabek squinted for a second and then nodded. “Try this one,” he said, and handed Yuri the jacket.

Yuri was stunned for a second, wanting to protest, but then he felt the fabric of blazer, stiff but oddly supple and velvety (how the heck the designer had achieved such a feat was beside the point), so he decided to give it a chance. Yuri noticed that the jacket also featured a delicate embroidery around the edge, probably spun from pure fucking silver, he thought dejectedly. He tried ran his fingers over the collar, trying— and failing— not to immediately fall in love with it.

Otabek had moved on to a nearby display, so Yuri steeled his nerves and flipped over the price tag.

Yuri didn’t pass out, but only because he didn’t want to embarrass himself in the store. It was sheer will that kept him upright after seeing a number that high. All for one piece of clothing.

By the time Yuri returned from the astral plane, Otabek had assembled two entire outfits and was shuffling Yuri into a dressing room to try them on. 

Inside, Yuri was relieved to see that Otabek had included an outfit similar to the one that he wore in his Welcome to the Madness skate, complete with cheetah print detailing, leather pants, and a thin black tank top with significantly less holes but significantly more glitter.

Yuri did not make the mistake of checking the price tags this time. Instead, he tried to calm himself down by trying on one of the outfits. It was probably the slowest he’d done anything in a while, but he wanted to be careful, just in case he ripped anything and had to actually buy it. 

(Yuri shivered at the thought. He could basically kiss his dream to move out of Lilya’s apartment goodbye. If he had to pay for anything, he would be stuck in her tiny-ass flat until he was like, 30.)

“Yura? Let me know when you’re finished changing. I want to see the outfits.” Yuri heard Otabek call from outside the dressing room. Considering that they had been naked together less than a few hours ago, it seemed silly to not share the dressing room. But Yuri also remembered decorum and social manners were, like, a  _ thing _ in public, so he didn’t fight it.

Yuri decided to try on the  _ Madness _ outfit first, because it was right up his alley and he figured that it would help him feel less out of place in the absurdly expensive store. Yuri stepped out of the dressing room to see Otabek sitting on a fancy couch without arms that’s sole purpose was for lounging, because,  _ of course _ .

Yuri put on his best smirk and gave a little twirl, flipping his hair over his shoulder. Otabek stared at him in a way that could only be described as hungry _ ,  _ and it made Yuri’s stomach flip. Out of the corner of his eye, Yuri spotted a pair of leather riding gloves and, with a wicked smile, he ran over to the display and grabbed them. 

The gloves were made from a supple, dark red leather, and were unfortunately  _ not  _ fingerless. They didn’t match Yuri’s outfit in the slightest, but they also couldn’t have been more perfect.

Yuri skipped back to where Otabek was sitting, and held out the gloves wordessly; the accessories themselves spoke volumes. 

“May I do the honors?” Otabek asked. Yuri extended his arm, with his wrist tilted downwards, like he was asking Otabek to kiss his ring.

Otabek took the gloves. The store was empty except for the two of them in the corner of the room, but the tension crackled like static between them. Yuri took a step closer into Otabek’s space: a challenge.

Yuri held his breath. He wanted Otabek to grab his wrist like he had on the ice, all those months ago, bring Yuri’s hand up to his mouth, stare deeply into his eyes, gently scrape his teeth over Yuri’s pulse… 

But Otabek just slipped the gloves onto Yuri’s hands, carefully, without so much as a cursory glance upwards.

While Yuri was a little disappointed, he figured that it was best not to make a scene. Even though Yuri desperately wanted to  _ make a scene. _

Yuri stepped back before his body betrayed him and wiggled his fingers playfully, admiring the way the squeak of the new leather. He could feel Otabek’s eyes slide down his body, taking in his outfit.

“The gloves don’t match,” Otabek said, after a while.

“And the outfit costs more than I make in a year,” Yuri retorted. “What do you think?” 

“You look good,” Otabek said.

Yuri huffed. Considering the significant sexual tension from a moment ago and the way Otabek had literally undressed him with his eyes, the response was underwhelming at best. He stomped back into the dressing room, but he didn’t even get the satisfaction of slamming a physical door because the room was outfitted with a thick curtain that kind of just, jostled into place as Yuri shut it. 

Fucking _ boutiques. _

The next outfit Yuri tried on was all urban hipster and it should have looked awful, but Yuri looked handsome as hell. The cuffed jeans and button-up combo suited him, and the forest green cardigan brought out his eyes. He made stuck his tongue out at the mirror, cursing the unrecognizably barista-esque self that was staring back at him.

Yuri made a show of opening the curtain this time, stepping out one leg slowly before whipping the drape away to reveal his outfit. 

“Eh?” Yuri wiggled his eyebrows.

Otabek gave him a once over. “I like that one. Makes you look softer,” he said, nodding to himself.

“Soft is not my aesthetic,” he grumbled. Yuri made a face, and sauntered back into the dressing room. The last piece of clothing was the blazer, and Yuri dressed in his (Otabek’s) joggers and t-shirt before slipping his arms into it and straightening the collar.

The stylish blazer looked absurd paired with his sweats, but Yuri had to admit that Otabek had done a phenomenal job in picking it out. The cut flattered his small waist, and the shoulders were delicately padded— not so much that someone would notice, but just enough to accentuate them. 

Yuri took it off, gently, and hung it back on the hanger. He sullenly cursed the object for its ridiculous price, but he couldn’t be mad at it for too long, because how could he be when it was that beautiful?

Yuri walked out of the dressing room with the outfits slung over his arm.

“How did the blazer look?” Otabek asked. Yuri simply groaned in response.

“That bad?”

“No, it looked fucking amazing,” Yuri said dejectedly. “But I was right— I can’t afford it, and I sure as hell won’t let you buy it for me,” 

“Yura, if you love it so much, let me buy it for you. I still need to make up for that shirt I ruined,” Otabek said softly.

Yuri sighed. He held up the jacket again to admire it. While his pride was telling him to reshelve it and  _ move on,  _ every bone in his body  _ wanted _ that blazer. Yuri imagined wearing it to banquets, interviews, sponsor meetings... a sleek, versatile,  _ classy _ piece of clothing could do wonders for his wardrobe.

“Are you sure you aren’t a Kazakh noble?” Yuri asked, in lieu of an answer. “You have a lot of fucking money for a teenager.”

Otabek took the hanger from Yuri’s arm and just shrugged mysteriously. 

And that’s how Yuri ended up walking out of the boutique, swinging a nondescript paper bag with a $2,000 jacket inside. Yuri still felt guilty about the amount of money that Otabek had spent, and he decided that he would try to spend the rest of his trip making up for it. 

The two of them walked along a large boulevard, stopping occasionally to peer into the window of a store or admire one of the city’s many murals. The sun was full in the sky, but the cool air from the neighboring lakes kept a large amount of its force at bay. Light glinted off of of the windows of the tall buildings that stretched into the clouds; all things considered, it was a perfect day. 

Yuri casually reached out to take Otabek’s hand, but at the same moment, Otabek shoved his hands into his pockets. Yuri narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out if Otabek’s movement was intentional or not.

“Can we hold hands?” Yuri asked. He felt like an idiot asking.

“It’s kinda busy today,” Otabek said, chewing on his lip. “I don’t want to block people.”

Yuri stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. 

“Now you’re really going to block traffic,” Otabek laughed nervously.

“Beka, what the fuck. There’s like, literally no one around,” Yuri spit, waving his hands as if to demonstrate. “If you don’t want to hold hands with me, just fucking tell me, okay? Don’t do… whatever the hell this is.”

Otabek looked down at his feet, and Yuri felt somewhat vindicated for his outburst. If he had a problem, Otabek needed to tell him, because Yuri hated nothing more than being lied to.

“Sorry,” Otabek said, furrowing his brow. “I just... don’t really like holding hands. In public, uh… sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.”

Yuri watched him in disbelief for a moment, and then sighed loudly. They only had 24 more hours together, and Yuri didn’t want to waste what precious time they spent in person arguing. Whatever was going on with Otabek could wait until after they were done being happy boyfriends.

“Whatever, let’s just go,” Yuri started to walk again, and Otabek fell in step behind him. 

To a casual observer, it would have looked like they had come to terms; there was no anger, bitterness, or tension between them. It would have looked like two men casually strolling the sidewalks, occasionally pausing to point out a window or object. It would have looked like nothing had ever happened.

— 

Yuri’s frustration evaporated quickly when he spotted the Perfect Store. 

By that time in his life, Yuri had traveled all over the world and knew what kind of places he liked to shop. They all generally fit the same criteria: a large amount of clothing (which included a kid’s section because Yuri was still  _ growing) _ , at least one wall of accessories, and something on display with animal print. In every place that Yuri visited, bustling city or sprawling town, he had always found a Perfect Store. 

In Detroit, he discovered Ross.

Otabek had laughed at Yuri’s astonished stare, and informed him that, “It’s a chain,” before following him into the store.

Yuri felt much more at home in this store, where the racks were overflowing with clothes and the employees looked like they would rather be anywhere else. Yuri danced through the aisles, piling clothing onto Otabek who was so kindly acting as his pack mule.

Since the dressing rooms were located at the back of the store, Yuri pulled Otabek into a dressing room where he gave Otabek his own personal fashion show complete with an awkward lap dance and a lot of kisses.

A  _ lot _ of kisses. They made out in the dressing room for a while, until an employee interrupted them by banging on the door, yelling that there was a line of people waiting to try on clothes.

The two walked out of the dressing room, trying to maintain their dignity even though Yuri’s hair was falling out of his ponytail and Otabek’s t-shirt was rumpled and untucked. Yuri paid for his new clothes, trying not to giggle as the cashier scowled at them.

Once outside of the door, both Otabek and Yuri burst out laughing. 

— 

After shopping, Otabek dropped Yuri off at his apartment while he went back to the Skate Club for his second on-ice session of the day. Yuri tried to do a little bit of school work that he’d packed in the hopes that he’d get a free moment during Skate America, but that was just wishful thinking. As any athlete knows, it’s impossible to get work done during a competition. 

He got through four pages of  _ Crime and Punishment  _ before he passed out on Otabek’s couch, where Otabek found him two hours later.

Otabek showered and changed, and then the two of them took an uber to Otabek’s favorite restaurant in the city. The hostess sat them at a plush booth in the corner of the room, sheltered nicely from the rest of the restaurant. The lights were dim but it wasn’t dark, just cozy. There was a little candle flickering warmly on the table between Otabek and Yuri. Yuri felt at home in the cozy atmosphere. 

Yuri wanted a photo to commemorate the date, so he reached across the table to get him and Otabek in the frame. A passing waiter saw him struggling with the angle and offered to take the picture for them.

The photo turned out quite nicely. Yuri had a wide grin plastered across his face, while Otabek wore one of his signature soft smiles. The table was large so they were spread out a little bit, but it was endearing nonetheless. It looked like they were on a romantic night out.

Yuri smiled at the thought. He was on a real date, and even better, it was with  _ Otabek Altin,  _ the Hero of Kazakhstan and his best-friend-turned-boyfriend _. _ Even though Yuri hadn’t gotten on a plane thinking he was going to get a boyfriend, he was quite pleased with the outcome anyway.

Yuri had a  _ boyfriend.  _ It still felt weird to say.

Opening the Instagram app, Yuri slapped a few filters and edits onto the photo: correcting the red-eye, low lighting, and contrast that washed him out but made Otabek’s skin practically glow (annoying). Otabek was concentrated on reading the menu, so Yuri tried to think of an appropriate caption. 

“Beka,” Yuri said, causing Otabek to look up. 

Yuri held out his phone for Otabek to see. It was the picture they had just taken, with a caption that read: “dinner date w/ my boyfriend @otabek-altin.”

Otabek’s eyes darkened and he furrowed his eyebrows. Yuri frowned.

“Look, I know I’m not  _ great _ at captions—”

“Are you going to post that?” Otabek asked, quietly. 

“Considering it’s literally on insta, yes, I was going to post it,” Yuri said, rolling his eyes. Did Otabek not like the way he looked in the picture? 

Yuri asked him as much, but Otabek just shook his head and looked down at the table.

“Can you… maybe, not post it?” Otabek whispered. 

Yuri exploded.

“What the  _ fuck,  _ Beka?” He yelled. Even from their secluded spot in the corner, Yuri’s voice made a couple of people turn their heads. Yuri glared at them until they went back to their dinner, and then started down his boyfriend across the table.

“Seriously,  _ Otabek _ —” Yuri drew out the name, discarding Otabek’s nickname along with his patience, “—what the actual fuck is your problem?”

“Yura, I just… I don’t really want you to post it—”

“Why the hell not? You’ve been acting weird all fucking day!” Yuri hissed. A day’s worth of missteps and disagreements and pent-up anger was spitting out of Yuri like burning ashes from a fire being sparked by the wind. He was  _ seething. _

“First, you introduced me to Jo and Ben and Maya as your  _ friend,  _ after you were the one who made a big fucking deal of asking me to be your boyfriend!”

“Yura, please keep your voice down, let me explain—”

“And then, you don’t even  _ hold my hand?  _ What the hell was that about?” Yuri bowled over Otabek, slamming his hands on the table. A few more people turned their heads, and others were obviously trying to ignore his outburst, but Yuri was beyond caring what other people thought. 

The only person who’s opinion even  _ remotely _ mattered was sitting across from him, with a pained expression on his face and Yuri’s bleeding heart in his hands.

“Why can’t I post this picture?” Yuri’s throat was strained. “Are you that fucking  _ embarrassed  _ to be seen with me?” 

Yuri’s face grew hot and tears began to well in the corners of his eyes. Otabek was still just looking at him, his mouth hanging open slightly, so Yuri cursed quietly and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. Otabek’s face was all the damning confirmation he needed.

“Yura, let me explain—”

“I don’t care,” Yuri whispered. He felt himself retreating: from his surroundings, from Otabek, from himself. He slumped back on the bench.

“Yura,” Otabek started. His eyes darted around the room and then he pressed them shut like he was in pain. 

“I’m not out yet.”

All at once, Yuri was flung back into his body, the sudden weight of  _ everything  _ slamming into his bones. 

“Shit.” Yuri said, instead of the million apologies swirling around his brain. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I thought you knew,” Otabek’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I just… I haven’t even told my parents. Only a few people really know, and I thought if people saw us together in public…” 

Otabek trailed off, unable to finish, but Yuri could infer the rest. He knew, better than anyone, how important it was to control a narrative, how fragile their reputations were, how much of their livelihood depended on sponsors and donors and  _ looking the part. _

“They would hate me,” Otabek said softly. His face was neutral but Yuri could hear his voice breaking. “ I’d be lucky to keep any of my sponsors, and Kazakhstan… they could keep me out of the Olympics.”

“They can’t… they can’t do that,” was the only thing Yuri could think to say.

“You know they could, and they would,” Otabek smiled bitterly. He took a deep breath. “But Yura, I messed up. Not telling you.”

“It’s okay, Beka, if anything I need to say sorry—”

“But I want to tell people. About us,” Otabek said, cutting Yuri off.

“You do?” Yuri asked softly. His mind had been whirling at the thought of having to date Otabek in secret, which he could— and would— do for Otabek, but the fact that Otabek wanted to tell the world made him breathe a sigh of relief.

“I do. I want to come out to the world, and I want to do it with you,” Otabek said, reaching one arm across the wide table to grab Yuri’s hand. Yuri was too stunned to move.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I have been for a while, actually, but you’re the first person that has ever made me want to go through with it. You’re special, Yura.”

Otabek gave Yuri’s hand a squeeze.

“But that doesn’t excuse how I handled things today, so I’m sorry. Again. I should have told you.”

Otabek reached up and brushed the side of Yuri’s face, wiping away a tear that Yuri didn’t know had fallen. 

“I’m sorry too,” Yuri whispered, trying to get his voice to stop shaking. He cleared his throat. “I should have known, or like,  _ asked.  _ I’m so sorry.”

Otabek nodded, so Yuri continued

“If it makes you feel better, no matter how you come out, you’re guaranteed to do it better than I did.”

Yuri had come out a few years prior with an explosive instagram post. It was a picture of him in sunglasses, flipping off the camera, with a caption that read “I’m gay, fuckers.” The media had a shitstorm over it, and Yakov had taken away his phone for a month.

Otabek cracked into a small grin and Yuri was relieved to see that Otabek was okay. Nevertheless, he asked anyways.

“Yeah, I’m good. I just feel bad—”

“Don’t,” Yuri cut him off. “I was the one who yelled at you in a public restaurant. It’s fine.”

Otabek chuckled a little at that, and Yuri smiled back. He brought Otabek’s hand to his mouth and kissed the top of his knuckles.

“I love you. A lot,” he whispered into Otabek’s hand.

“I love you too.”

Not even moments later, the waitress came by to take their orders. Yuri hadn’t so much as touched the menu, so Otabek ordered the same dish for the both of them, earning a smirk from their waitress before she left for the kitchen.

“So, you want to come out?” Yuri asked Otabek, reopening their discussion.

“Yeah. You make me brave, Yura.”

—

Over glazed salmon and rice pilaf topped with roasted vegetables, Yuri and Otabek discussed the best way to announce their relationship to the public. When they left the restaurant, Yuri slipped his hand into Otabek’s jacket pocket to take his hand, and they walked off into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another [Bruno Major song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lARENhXPftU) for the chapter title this week!
> 
> Thanks for reading, always. It means so much to have people engaged in my stories enough to want to come back each week for new chapters. Thanks for loving Otabek and Yuri as much as I do. 💜


	9. If It Brings Me To My Knees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There isn’t much ground to cover on their way from Otabek’s front door to his bedroom, but Yuri gets lost in Otabek’s mouth, so it takes a while.

In the car ride back to Otabek’s apartment, laughing and making eyes in the backseat, Yuri realized that it was the last time he would be able to share a bed with Otabek for the foreseeable future. Since the tension of earlier was now a distant memory, Yuri was able to focus on the fact that he was, for lack of a better word, _needy_. (And as good as it had been, a private make-out session in a dressing room hadn’t really done it for him.)

So, Yuri decided to take matters into his own hands, and thank Otabek for all of his hospitality.

The second Otabek closed the door, Yuri shoved him against it and kissed him roughly on the mouth. Yuri opened his mouth without hesitation, letting Otabek dip his tongue in greedily. Otabek grabbed Yuri’s hair, a little tightly, and shifted his hips in between Yuri’s legs. Yuri groaned. 

Apparently, they had the same idea.

“Thanks for dinner,” Yuri said between kisses. Otabek just hummed and trailed kisses up Yuri’s jaw to his ear, which made him shudder with pleasure.

“Anytime,” Otabek whispered in his ear, his voice low and smooth. Yuri practically purred.

Otabek slid his hands down Yuri’s waist to grab a handful of his ass, which made Yuri’s breath catch in his throat. He threw his head back, exposing his long, delicate neck. Otabek was all but predatory, latching onto his pale skin and _sucking,_ scraping his teeth and tongue over one spot until it was a faint purple and Yuri was gasping for air.

“Holy _shit_ , Beka.”

“Too possessive?” Otabek asked, his words vibrating against Yuri’s neck. Yuri dropped one hand from the wall to slip his fingers under the hem of Otabek’s shirt.

“It’s so good. You’re so fucking good”

Yuri heard Otabek gasp quietly, and Yuri made note of his reaction and filed it away under ways to make his boyfriend fucking _squirm_.

Yuri lifted Otabek’s chin to kiss him squarely on the lips, leading them away from the wall. They kicked off their shoes, threw their jackets on Otabek’s living room couch, and made their way into Otabek’s room, kissing and touching and— occasionally— pressing the other one up against a nearby wall. 

There wasn’t much ground to cover on their way from Otabek’s front door to his bedroom, but Yuri got lost in Otabek’s mouth, so it took a while.

Not bothering to turn on his bedroom light, Otabek sat down on his bed, his smiling face illuminated by the moon shining through the blinds. Yuri grinned and straddled Otabek, grabbing his face in both hands to slot their lips together once more. Otabek tasted like diet soda and the chocolate cake they had eaten for dessert, and Yuri chased the flavor with his tongue.

Yuri had been holding his hips above Otabek, but Otabek was visibly hard and so was Yuri, so he slid his legs apart and grinded his hips down onto Otabek. 

Now, Otabek didn’t make a lot of noise during sex, but when he did, it was fucking _spectacular._ He groaned, low and gravelly, and the sound traveled instantly to Yuri’s abdomen, where a knot of pleasure was beginning to grow. Yuri gasped at the sound and then hid his face shyly in Otabek’s shoulder.

“Do you like that, Yura?” Otabek whispered. Yuri nodded.

“Do you like to _hear_ me?” Otabek asked, stroking Yuri’s hair. His voice sent shivers down Yuri’s back and all he wanted was to be _closer_ to Otabek, so he shoved his hands under Otabek’s shirt and up his back. He held on tight.

Otabek laughed softly.

“I’ll try not to be so quiet, then,” he said. All Yuri could do was nod and grind his hips lower, seeking out heat and relief in Otabek’s body. Otabek moaned quietly and Yuri bit down on his shoulder. He didn’t mean to, but the sounds that were coming out of Otabek made him feel so hot and needy that his mouth begged for _more_.

“Beka? Can I take off your shirt?” Yuri asked, slightly timid and overwhelmed in the best way possible.

Otabek looked into Yuri’s eyes and nodded, and Yuri pulled Otabek’s shirt over his head. Yuri quickly did the same, and Otabek’s hands chased the fabric up Yuri’s chest, the pads of his fingers like fire against Yuri’s skin. 

Yuri kissed Otabek again, moaning into his mouth as Otabek’s hands explored Yuri’s chest and back, through his hair and across his face, thumbing Yuri’s cheekbones and the dips of his collarbones.

He followed his hands with kisses, featherlight and gentle, as Yuri sat on his lap. It was all so tender and loving and Yuri thought that he might cry. He wanted to thank Otabek every day for the rest of his life. Yuri had never been good with words, though, so he would have to let his actions speak for him.

Yuri rolled his hips on Otabek’s erection, pushing his own against Otabek’s toned abs and gasping whenever he was greeted with the much-needed friction. Yuri dragged his hands down Otabek’s chest, marveling at the well-defined curves and edges of his muscles. They landed on Otabek’s belt loops, and Yuri couldn’t help but notice how Otabek’s underwear peeked out from under his jeans, and how the strong V of his hip bones dipped teasingly below the waistband that Yuri was playing with.

Yuri slipped his tongue into Otabek’s mouth and unbuttoned his jeans, slowly undoing the zipper so that Otabek was thrusting his hips upwards towards nothing. Wordlessly, Yuri stood up and Otabek grabbed his waist and pulled him towards the bed, kissing the skin of Yuri’s stomach and the lines of his lithe abdomen— sharp and sleek and well-earned. Otabek kept his mouth on Yuri as he slid Yuri’s sweatpants down his legs. 

Yuri was stiff and leaking into his underwear, so he had to bite his lower lip to keep himself from _screaming_ when Otabek palmed his erection through his boxers. 

Yuri thought his knees were going to buckle, so he pushed Otabek so that he was lying back on the bed. Yuri kissed him deeply as their hands explored each other once more.

“Can I— mm— take this off?” Yuri asked, his voice hoarse. Otabek nodded and helped pull down his boxers, allowing his stiff cock to spring free, glistening with precome. It was the most beautiful sight Yuri had ever seen. 

Yuri worshipped Otabek’s body, kissing every smooth plane and curve of his chest, the crevices in his neck, Otabek’s throat when he swallowed thickly from all of the attention. Yuri kissed the strong, rope-like muscles of his biceps, the insides of his wrists, the peaks and valleys of his hips. He hadn’t touched Otabek’s cock at all, and it was making Otabek whimper.

“Yura…”

Yuri delighted in the sound of his name, dripping from Otabek’s mouth like water.

“Yura... _please_...”

Yuri loved the sound of his name, dragged from Otabek’s clenched teeth like toffee, sticky and sweet.

“ _Fuck_ , Yura—”

Yuri relished in the sound of his name, springing from Otabek’s lips like a prayer, breathless, reverent.

Otabek’s breath hitched as Yuri took him into his mouth, his warm, wet lips pursed around the head of Otabek’s cock. Yuri began to move, slowly, up and down Otabek’s length, working his tongue over the slit that was dripping precome. Otabek moaned, fisting his sheets so he didn’t involuntarily buck his hips up into Yuri’s mouth. Yuri swallowed him to the base anyway, even though it made tears gather in the corner of his eyes. 

“Yura, Yura, Yura…” his name spilled out of Otabek’s mouth like a mantra as Yuri hollowed his cheeks and bobbed his head over Otabek’s cock.

Otabek’s hands threaded into Yuri’s hair, a favorite activity of his, grabbing and _pulling_ the soft blonde strands as Yuri sucked. Yuri loved when Otabek played with his hair. 

“Fuck, I can’t— Yura, I’m going to—” 

Yuri removed his mouth languidly, dragging his lips upwards until he reached the head of Otabek’s cock. He kissed it gently, smiling.

“You taste _so_ good, Beka,” he purred.

Otabek swore and pulled Yuri upwards into a searing kiss. He sunk his teeth into Yuri’s bottom lip, swallowing Yuri’s gasp with his mouth. Yuri still had his underwear on, but he was back to rolling his hips onto Otabek’s as he felt the wet spot at the front of them grow.

Otabek flipped Yuri suddenly, tossing him on his back and climbing on top of him in one smooth motion. He dipped his head to meet Yuri’s stomach and leave a trail of featherlight kisses.

“Can I take these off?” Otabek whispered into Yuri’s hips, mouthing at the waistband of his boxers.

“Jesus _Christ,_ please,” Yuri whimpered. Otabek tugged off the fabric and jokingly threw tossed over his shoulder with a flourish. It broke the moment and Yuri couldn’t contain the giggle that slipped from his lips. 

Otabek sat back on his heels and smiled softly at him.

“You are beautiful,” he murmured. His eyes slid down Yuri’s naked body, drinking in every inch of exposed skin. He ran his hands along Yuri’s waist, featherlight. “I am so lucky.”

“Otabek…” Yuri blushed, savoring his partner’s name on his tongue. It tasted like early mornings and phone calls and burnt coffee as Yuri got ready to the tune of Otabek’s voice. It tasted like pure sex and bathroom blowjobs and getting down on his knees, an invocation of all things holy.

Otabek leaned down to kiss Yuri, gently, lovingly. 

“Do you want to do this?” he asked, nuzzling his face into Yuri’s neck. 

“Yes.”

Otabek opened the drawer in his bedside table and pulled out the bottle of lube he’d dropped in there the other night.

“I’ll go slow. Tell me if it hurts or you need to stop,” he said. Yuri nodded. He trusted Otabek to take care of him.

Still leaning over him, Otabek pressed one finger lightly against Yuri’s rim. 

“Relax, love,” Otabek’s words buzzed in his ear and sent shivers down his arms. 

“—’m okay,” Yuri murmured, taking a deep breath.

Suddenly, Otabek pressed one digit in and Yuri was _much fucking better than okay_. He whined, bucking his hips into Otabek’s hand so that his finger was forced to go deeper. 

“Good, Yura, you’re doing so well,” Otabek murmured as he kissed Yuri. Yuri gasped, feeling every stroke of Otabek’s finger inside of him, tight and hot. Pleasure followed Otabek’s movements and pooled, low and desperate, in Yuri’s abdomen.

“Fuck, Yura, you’re so tight,” Otabek groaned. “Do you want two?”

“God, yes...”

Otabek inserted a second finger, and Yuri yelped. Otabek quickly tried to remove his them but Yuri placed his hand on Otabek’s arm.

“I’m good. It’s just… a lot. Go slow.”

Yuri was unaccustomed to the stretch from Otabek’s fingers, larger than his own, but Otabek just nodded and slowly began to move. He pressed his fingers deeper, until the initial pain morphed into pleasure as the feeling of fullness enveloped Yuri, making him groan loudly.

Spurred on by the noises Yuri was making, Otabek tried to crook his fingers, searching for the spot within Yuri that made him see stars. Yuri rolled his hips up, pushing Otabek deeper inside of him— 

“Ahhh— fuck! _Holy fucking shit,_ Beka—” 

Otabek grinned and repeated the motion, making Yuri cry out again.

“Fuck...” Yuri’s voice was barely above a whisper, high and reedy and _desperate_. “Beka, I want you, god.”

Otabek pulled his fingers out and kissed Yuri. He slipped his tongue past Yuri’s lips, exploring the inside of his mouth. Yuri moaned Otabek’s name over and over; he wanted Otabek inside of him, wanted to feel the stretch of him, the warmth of him.

Otabek reached into his drawer again and pulled out a condom. Yuri watched him hungrily as he tore open the wrapper and rolled it down his cock _._ Otabek dribbled some lube onto his hand and stroked his length a few times before lining himself up above Yuri’s hips. Yuri wanted to wrap his legs around Otabek and pull him closer, he wanted Otabek _closer._

“What do you want, love?” Otabek whispered, looking into his eyes.

“Beka— _fuck me_ . Please,” Yuri gasped, throwing his arms around Otabek’s shoulders and burying his face into his neck. “Fuck, just— _please_.”

Otabek pushed into him and Yuri cursed, feeling himself stretch around Otabek’s cock. The sensation was delicious, of being stretched further than Yuri knew he could go, savoring in the fullness of Otabek’s cock inside of him. 

Otabek pressed in slowly, deeper and deeper until Yuri was fully seated on Otabek’s base. Yuri fisted the sheets and groaned through clenched teeth, trying to remember just how to breathe. 

“—my fucking god, you feel so _good,_ Yura,” Otabek groaned, his eyes squeezed tightly in pleasure.

Tenderly, Otabek began to move. Yuri buried his face into Otabek’s shoulder and bit down on the ridge of his collarbone, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. He tried to keep the moans and gasps from escaping his lips, but the feeling of Otabek pushing in and out of him broke his resolve.

“Fuck, Beka—”

Otabek began to thrust faster, gripping Yuri’s waist fiercely as he guided him up and down his cock. Yuri cried out, his sounds muffled by the kiss as Otabek fucked him steadily. Yuri felt a pressure building deep in his core, and Otabek lifted Yuri’s hips slightly so that his cock rammed into Yuri’s prostate, and Yuri _screamed._

He was begging now. For what precisely, Yuri wasn’t sure, but he knew that if Otabek _stopped,_ he might die.

“Fuck, please— Beka, ahh— fuck, you feel so good—” Yuri groaned as Otabek fucked him through his words. A bead of sweat dripped off of Otabek’s forehead, so Yuri pulled Otabek close and ran his tongue over it, reveling in the salty taste and the whimper that came out of Otabek. 

“Yura, I’m going to, fuck—” Otabek cursed.

“Beka. It’s okay. Come for me,” Yuri whispered, and Otabek came undone. His hips stuttered and he pushed into Yuri, _hard,_ as his orgasm rocked his body. Yuri bit his lip and reached one hand to massage his own neglected cock. 

Otabek had barely caught his breath before his hand joined Yuri’s. Yuri bucked his hips into the tight circle of their hands, Otabek’s cock still inside of him and pulsing. Otabek kissed him hungrily and Yuri felt the pressure building inside of him, threatening to spill over at any second.

Yuri cried out Otabek’s name as he came, an invocation of all things holy. 

— 

After they showered together, something that was becoming a common occurrence for them, Otabek and Yuri turned had off the lights and huddled under the covers, legs and arms and fingers intertwined. 

Otabek pressed a kiss on the top of Yuri’s hair.

“I’m going to miss you,” he said, simply.

“I don’t want to go,” Yuri whispered.

“I know.”

“But I have to.”

Otabek paused for a moment, and his arms tightened around Yuri’s waist.

“I know.”

— 

Otabek dropped Yuri off at the airport at eight in the morning. They had woken up before the alarm, and the two of them held each other for a while before the sun came up: Otabek playing with Yuri’s hair, Yuri running his the pads of his fingers over Otabek’s skin. Otabek let Yuri use his single cereal bowl and helped Yuri gather his belongings from the various corners of Otabek’s apartment, because even though Yuri had only been in Detroit a day and a half, he was surprisingly adept at inhabiting a space.

After breakfast, Yuri pushed Otabek onto his couch and kissed him until Yuri forgot everything but his own name and the two almost missed their taxi.

Standing outside of the security line, Yuri felt tears springing to the corners of his eyes but he gritted his teeth and forced them down. Otabek was his typical, expressionless self, and from the outside, this would seem normal. But to Yuri, who had seen through the cracks of Otabek’s stoic shell and danced in the variety of expressions below; to Yuri, who had made Otabek laugh and cry and _scream_ all in the span of an hour, Otabek’s inscrutable expression made his heart ache. Yuri could only imagine what turmoil lay boiling beneath its mask.

They’d been standing there for a few minutes, a few feet apart from each other, Yuri talking idly about nothing in the hopes that he could delay his leaving forever. Eventually, he lapsed into silence, unable to stall any longer.

“Yura, you’re boarding soon,” Otabek said, breaking the quiet. Yuri nodded.

“I don’t want to go back to Russia,” Yuri admitted. He looked down, his face growing hot as he fought back tears for what felt like the millionth time that morning.

Otabek reached out his arm to comfort Yuri, but then stopped midair, leaving his hand hanging in the space between them for a few seconds before whipping it back to his side. The sight made Yuri snort, the tension evaporating off of his skin instantaneously. Otabek cracked a smile and tried to hide it behind his hand.

“You know, you can touch my shoulder,” Yuri whispered conspiratorily, fighting back a grin. Otabek rolled his eyes.

“Whatever, I didn’t know—”

“I’m messing with you, idiot,” Yuri said as he punched Otabek’s shoulder lightly. “It’s smart, like… um, not being too _coupley_ in public.”

“Thank you, Yura.”

Yuri simply nodded. He glanced at security, which was practically empty, and decided he had a few more minutes to say goodbye.

“Thank _you,_ Beka. For this whole trip,” Yuri said. “I’m sorry for springing it on you and, like, thank you for being so—”

“Yura. You have no need to apologize,” Otabek interrupted firmly. “It was my pleasure. I love being with you and spending time with you.”

“I… I couldn’t _not_ see you,” Yuri said, his voice low.

“Thank god for your impulsiveness, Yuri Plisetsky,” Otabek whispered back, smiling gently. He placed his hand on Yuri’s arm without hesitation this time, and the gesture sent warmth through Yuri’s whole body.

Yuri wanted to throw his arms around Otabek and bury his face in Otabek’s neck, but the two had said their _real_ goodbyes back in Otabek’s apartment, under the warm glow of Otabek’s bedside lamp. The shades on the windows were closed so nobody saw the two men inside, crying softly and kissing away each other’s tears.

(Later in life, when Yuri would look back on the morning he and Otabek spent together before he flew back to St. Petersburg, Yuri might think that maybe he was overreacting. He planned to see Otabek many times before the season was over; he had confidence in Otabek’s ability to make up for last season and ascend to World’s once more. However, Yuri Plisetsky was young and in love, and when he would look back on the morning, let’s hope that Yuri forgives himself for the tears. It’s always hard to leave your first love.)

“You need to go,” Otabek whispered, urging Yuri gently towards the TSA line. Yuri laughed and dug his heels into the ground.

“Just one more thing,” Yuri began.

“What is it?”

“See you at the Grand Prix finals, Beka,” Yuri sing-songed. He tilted his chin up in challenge, a smile dancing behind his eyes.

“You better watch your back, Plisetsky. Just cause we’re an item doesn’t mean I’m going to go easy on you,” Otabek retorted with a smirk.

“‘ _An item_?’ Who uses that anyone? What are you, like, 50?” Yuri snorted.

“Just get on your plane, oh my god!” Otabek rolled his eyes in exasperation and gave Yuri another shove.

“Fine, _fine!_ I’m going.”

Yuri kicked his suitcase onto two wheels and began to walk away. He didn’t look back as he passed through security, slipping off his shoes and pushing his suitcase through the X-Ray.

When he was past the checkpoint and tying his shoes again, he looked back at the place where Otabek had been standing, and Yuri was surprised to find him still there. Yuri stood up, swallowing the lump in his throat, and gave Otabek a small wave. 

Otabek waved back, and mouthed the words _I love you._

Yuri whispered them back, and then turned around and walked to his gate, dragging his suitcase behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...The religious metaphors may have gotten away from me in this one. Chapter title from Bad Religion by Frank Ocean, [covered by the incredibly talented Bruno Major.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=44nFDoD7FMg)
> 
> In OTHER EXCITING NEWS, I will be posting the end of this fic pretty soon! It probably won't be in the next week because university is... a lot... but I promise, it's mostly done, I just need to put the finishing touches on it. It's technically two chapters but one is the "final" chapter and one is a nice little epilogue. This has been an incredible journey, and I'm excited but also a little sad that it's coming to an end. Thanks for reading, as always, and I'll see you for the ~final~ installments!


	10. Impossible Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even though Otabek feels numb and his vision is swimming, Celestino’s words also ground him. It makes him more sure of his decision to come out to the public, and, most importantly, stop hiding his relationship with Yuri. Yuri means too much to him to continue to hide him away like a secret he's ashamed of.  
> Otabek is not ashamed of who he is.

On his way out of practice, Otabek opened the door straight into Phichit.

It had been over a week since Yuri had left for Russia, but Otabek hadn’t seen anyone from the skate club. This was mostly because he was trying to avoid them and any and all questions they would have about Yuri visiting. He could imagine them now: why had Yuri been in Detroit? Are you really  _ just _ friends? Otabek, why haven’t you responded to the group chat? 

The last one was because Otabek just like, couldn’t keep up with the amount of messages, but that was due to his own idiosyncrasies about technology. More importantly, though, he had other things to worry about, notably: the fact that he’d whacked Phichit with a door for the second time in a week.

“Shit— Phichit! Are you okay?” he asked. Luckily, he hadn’t knocked Phichit over like the first time, but he did manage to get a good hit on him. Phichit was rubbing his forehead and Otabek cursed himself for letting himself get lost in thought while he was walking.

“God, I’m so sorry for hitting you with the door… again,” Otabek apologized. Phichit— the kind and forgiving soul that he was— just waved his hand.

“I definitely walked into it,” he laughed. “I was on my phone.” 

Otabek smiled weakly in response.

Just then, Phichit squeaked like a thought occurred to him. “I was just looking at Instagram and I saw Yuri’s super cute post from Skate America!” 

Otabek nodded; he knew the one.

Phichit was back to scrolling on his phone. “I really thought he was going to post something from when he visited Detroit,” he said, absentmindedly. “Speaking of which, how was that?”

Otabek went stiff. Phichit’s questions had many implications which Otabek knew that Phichit didn’t necessarily mean to insinuate, but they were there anyways: how much Otabek missed Yuri, the sadness now that the two of them were once again continents apart, the apprehension of what was to come next, the happiness that the memories of those few days brought, and, most pressing of all, the fear.

God, Otabek wanted to run, but he forced himself to breathe through his onslaught of emotions. 

“It was really good,” Otabek said. He tried to focus on the warmth of holding Yuri in his arms, and not think about the feeling of falling asleep alone in his bed. “He surprised me, actually, and it was great to spend time with him.”

Otabek paused; he  _ wanted _ to tell Phichit about him and Yuri. In fact, he wanted to scream it from the rooftops, but a small voice in his mind was telling him to just end the conversation, stop the questions before Phichit could ask them.

However, Phichit was looking at him kindly and expectantly, so Otabek gritted his teeth, ignored the voice, and bowled ahead.

“And we also, uh… DTR-ed, I guess,” Otabek said.

Phichit’s eyes went wide. “Oh. My. God. Are you– Is this— Are you telling me— Are you two dating now?!” He jumped up and down excitedly.

Otabek couldn’t help but crack a small smile at Phichit’s enthusiasm, which mirrored the way he felt every time he was reminded that  _ the _ Yuri Plisetsky was his boyfriend.

“Yeah,” he said sheepishly, not quite sure of how to react to Phichit’s excitement.

“Oh my  _ god,  _ Beka! Thank you for telling me! I’m so happy for you two; congratulations!”

“Thanks, Phichit. We’re really excited too,” Otabek said. “It was a really nice trip overall, and I even got to show Yuri some of my favorite restaurants in Detroit.”

“Ugh, thanks for the invite,” Phichit joked.

Otabek snorted, and Phichit’s face lit up at that, probably because Otabek was expressing more emotion in one conversation than Phichit had ever been privy to in his life.

Phichit asked him some questions about his relationship with Yuri— how they met, how they started dating, even what Yuri was like as a boyfriend— and Otabek found he was happy to answer them. It was exciting to talk about Yuri and his newfound happiness and to have someone like Phichit be so interested in his relationship. But even though he was having fun talking to Phichit, something still nagged at the back of Otabek’s mind. 

He sat down on the curb and gestured for Phichit to take a seat next to him. 

“Um… I did want to ask for some advice on something,” Otabek asked. He saw Phichit nod out of the corner of his eye, but he was purposefully not looking at him. Panic began to rise in his chest so Otabek scrunched his eyes shut and tried to tamp it down. He knew that the only thing worse than talking about it with Phichit would be  _ not _ talking about it at all. 

“I, well— how do I phrase this? I’m, uh… not out yet,” Otabek started, his voice wavering. He urged it to still. “I wanted to get your advice on, like, coming out. To the world. Or, I guess, if it’s a good idea because I just… I don’t know.”

Otabek dropped his head into his hands, embarrassed. His face was hot and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from tearing up.

Suddenly, he felt a timid hand on his back, so he looked up at Phichit with wet eyes. Phichit wasn’t looking at him with pity, like Otabek thought he might be; instead, Phichit was smiling at him, and it was soft and gentle and friendly. 

“Thank you for telling me,” he said. “I can’t imagine how hard that is, and I’m just, like, really grateful that you trust me enough to tell me.”

“I guess… you seem like you know a lot. I thought you might have something inspirational or wise to say,” Otabek said. Phichit laughed, and it caught him off guard.

“Wise? I’m not  _ that _ much older than you, Beka,” he said. “Honestly though— and I hate to say it— but I don’t know. I’m really sorry. I don’t have much advice because I’ve never been through anything like what you’re going through. And I don’t want to tell you the wrong thing.”

Otabek nodded. “I get it. You don’t have to apologize, ‘cause really it just helped to get it off my chest.”

“I’m glad,” Phichit said. “But you know what? I think you should talk to Ciao-Ciao. He may not seem like it, but he’s a super caring person. He helped me with a lot of big decisions that I’ve had to make, like, moving to America to train and stuff. You know.”

Phichit removed his hand, but not before patting Otabek gently on the back. “I think he’s in his office now, if you want to talk to him.”

“Yeah. I’ll do that. Thanks Phichit,” Otabek said. He stood up and brushed off his jeans, and Phichit stood up as well.

“Though, let me get the door this time, so I don’t get hit again.”

Otabek groaned. “Oh god, Phichit, you know I’m so sorry about that—”

“I’m kidding! Kind of,” Phichit said with a playful grin. He swung open the door and held it open, gesturing Otabek inside. “After you!”

— 

Otabek took a deep breath before knocking on Celestino’s door. He could tell his coach was in from the small window facing his office, but the subject matter he was about to broach was enough to make Otabek pause before rapping his knuckles against the wood.

“Come in!” Celestino said, his back to the door.

Otabek turned the handle and walked in shyly, standing against the wall after the door closed behind him.

“Beka! I didn’t expect to see you this afternoon,” Celestino greeted him cheerfully, spinning around in his office chair. He was holding his notebook, and Otabek thought he might be interrupting something important. Every bone in his body was urging him to leave and reschedule the conversation for another time. 

“I take it the rest of your workout went well?” Celestino asked.

Otabek just nodded, purposefully not making eye contact with his coach. His nerves were buzzing under his skin, and he felt like he was about to freeze to death and spontaneously combust all at once. 

It wasn’t that he thought Celestino would judge him, Otabek just didn’t know how he’d react. Celestino hadn’t been his coach long enough to  _ really  _ know each other; even though they spent hours on and off the ice every day together, Otabek still knew very little about the man. On the other hand, Celestino only knew what personal information Otabek offered up, which was very little. This, however, was definitely  _ personal _ information.

“Beka, would you like to sit down?” 

Apparently, Celestino could sense that Otabek was spiraling from the thoughts that were rapidly spinning his own mind. Otabek nodded again and took a seat, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“Something on your mind?” Celestino asked gently. He had set aside his notebook and pen; Otabek had his full attention.

“Um… so, you remember how Yuri Plisetsky visited the rink last week?” Otabek started. Celestino laughed loudly.

“How could I forget? That kid is so fiery I thought he was going to melt the ice behind him. It was great to get to coach him for a day. He’s got a lot of spunk.”

The corner of Otabek’s lips drew into a small smile at the description. “Well, uh... recently, Yuri and I… we started dating. Um. So yeah, I guess that means I’m gay… Uh...” Otabek faltered, not knowing how to finish his thought. His face flushed and he looked down, embarrassed.

Celestino smiled warmly, letting silence envelop the space.

“Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me, Otabek,” he said. “That takes a lot of guts, and I’m glad you came to me.”

Why was everyone thanking him for telling them he was in a relationship with another man? It didn’t seem like a particularly brave thing to do, and yet, Otabek had to fight back the sudden rush of tears that were prickling in the corners of his eyes. 

“I… I don’t know what else to say, really,” Otabek mumbled, looking at his lap. “I just wanted to, um… get your advice on how I should deal with the ISU, I guess.”

Celestino paused for a moment, nodding thoughtfully. 

“And you want my opinion on whether you should announce it to the world?” he asked. Otabek lifted his head, glad that Celestino was able to parse an understanding from all of his incoherent ramblings.

“I see,” Celestino tapped his chin with one finger. “As a coach, I want to support you and say that people will accept you no matter how you identify, and that your skating career won’t be affected by something like this.

“However, I am  _ your _ coach, so I won’t bullshit you,” Celestino continued, and Otabek felt a pang in his chest as Celestino confirmed his suspicions. “It’s hard to be a professional athlete, but even harder to be a professional figure skater. You know that— you’ve grown up in this sport and gained some fame along the way. You know how much judges value a skater’s image, especially their lifestyles, and even though we live in a pretty progressive time, there are still some people that, uh… don’t think that being gay is an acceptable identity.

“In short, your career will most likely be impacted if you come out, Beka, and I’m so sorry to have to say this to you, but it’s the reality.”

Even though he felt numb and his vision was swimming, Celestino’s words also grounded him. It made him more sure of his decision to come out to the public, and, most importantly, stop hiding his relationship with Yuri. Yuri meant too much to him to continue to hide him away like a secret he was ashamed of.

Otabek was not ashamed of who he was.

“The decision is totally up to you,” Celestino broke into Otabek’s thoughts, making him look up once more. “But something about that look in your eyes tells me you’ve made up your mind.”

Otabek smiled weakly, thankful once again that Celestino was somehow able to read his mind.

“So, yes, this will be a tough year, and yes, your career will be affected. However, you are brave, and you are one of the most determined and hard-working people I’ve ever met, Otabek. If you do decide to come out, just know that the Detroit Skate Club is behind you. I will support you and do everything I can to make sure that you are not judged unfairly.

“If your sponsors drop you, we will support you. If you are barred from a tournament for bullshit reasons, we will fight to make sure you’re able to compete. You’re one of us now, which means that we’ll protect you and your career. You have my promise.”

Otabek was fully crying now— in full view of his coach— but he didn’t care. He felt a weight lift off of his chest that he didn’t know was sitting there, and suddenly, it felt like Otabek could breathe lightly again. 

He had always known that coming out as gay would cost him a piece of his career; it was simply the world he lived in. However, with Celestino’s promise, Otabek felt supported, safe, and secure. He felt like he finally wasn’t alone.

He felt like he could take a leap of faith and land on his feet, because he knew who was waiting for him at the bottom.

“Thank you,” was all Otabek could manage, his voice thick with tears.

“Of course, Beka. You’re my skater now, which means that I will always support you,” Celestino said, smiling again. Otabek wiped his face, graciously accepting a tissue from Celestino. 

He stood up and pushed out his chair to leave when Celestino spoke up again.

“You know, I was once in a long-distance relationship,” he said. Otabek tilted his head, waiting for more, but Celestino seemed to be lost in thought, his head resting on his crossed hands in front of him on the desk.

“How did you do it?” Otabek asked, genuinely curious. Not only was Otabek inexperienced when it came to relationships, but his boyfriend lived an ocean and a seven-hour plane ride away. 

“Honestly? It was hard work,” Celestino said, but even still, he looked wistful. “There’s really no trick to it. It’s all about persistence.”

Celestino paused.

“Unlike relationships where you see the other person every day, long-distance relationships are different. You have to make a choice, every single day, to love the other person, no matter the distance.”

“What happened?” Otabek asked. “To the relationship, I mean?”

Celestino smiled. “Didn’t work out. We moved in together after a few years and it turns out we both had some really annoying habits that we couldn’t get over. So we ended it, but we stayed good friends. She still lives in the city, with her husband and two kids.”

“Oh,” Otabek replied, slightly disappointed. He thanked Celestino quietly and walked to the door.

“Something tells me that you and Plisetsky will be different, though,” Celestino added.

Otabek turned around, his hand already on the handle of the door. His eyebrows were knitted, concern written across his brow.

“How can you be sure?” he asked, his voice as small as he felt.

“About you and Yuri?”

“About everything. I know— I think?— it’s the right thing to do, coming out and all, but honestly? I’m terrified,” Otabek admitted.

“No one said it was going to be easy, or that it wasn’t going to be scary. But you’ve got Yuri, and Phichit, and all of us here at the rink to back you up,” Celestino said, giving Otabek a reassuring smile. Otabek still wasn’t convinced, and it showed on his face.

“What you’re doing is incredibly brave. And you know what? Your bravery is going to help a lot of people. I know it,” Celestino said. “You’ll be just fine, Beka.”

Otabek wanted to cry— again— from his coach’s overwhelming kindness. “Thank you Celestino, for everything.”

“Call me Ciao-Ciao, please.”

“That’s Phichit’s thing,” Otabek said with a chuckle.

“Fine then, how about coach? Celestino is so… formal,” Celestino said, crinkling his nose.

“Okay, Coach, thank you for everything,” Otabek said. 

As he walked to his bike, Otabek’s mind was swirling with thoughts and hesitation and confusion. While he still wasn’t sure if he was making the right decision, Otabek did know one thing: he wasn’t afraid anymore.

— 

Otabek’s phone rang at 11:00pm on the dot, and Otabek was smiling before he even answered it.

“Beka Beka Beka!” Yuri shouted, surprisingly awake for six in the morning. (Otabek didn’t even have to calculate the time, it came automatically at this point.)

“Yura, you’re very alive this morning.” 

“Beka, have you heard of  _ coffee?”  _ Yuri said, loudly, and Otabek had to stifle a laugh. 

“I do drink coffee, yes—”

“I got up to make myself a cup before I called, and it’s like, why the  _ fuck _ have I never tried this before? I’m so ready to face this motherfucking day! Bring it the fuck on!” 

Otabek was fully laughing now, unable to contain it. Yuri’s unabashed enthusiasm was adorable, and on top of that, Otabek didn’t have to think of yet another creative way to get Yuri out of bed.

“You know what they say about coffee, though, about how it can stunt your growth?” Otabek said nonchalantly, picking at his nails and trying to suppress his grin.

Yuri paused mid jump, his eyes narrowing at the camera. Otabek continued. “I have like, two cups a day. That’s probably why I’m so short.”

Yuri held the camera close to his face. “Are you calling my boyfriend short?” 

Otabek laughed again, and Yuri followed quickly behind. 

“In all seriousness,” Otabek managed, after they had calmed down. “That much coffee can’t be good for you. You’re bouncing off the walls, Yura.”

“I had like, one cup,” Yuri retorted, rolling his eyes. “What you’re seeing here is pure, unfiltered Yuri energy. It’s just like, accentuated by the caffeine.”

“I’ll take you to a coffee shop the next time you visit then,” Otabek said, smiling softly.

“Speaking of! When am I coming to visit?”

“Realistically,  _ after _ Finals,” Otabek replied, running some numbers in his head. “And Finals are in December, so hopefully there as well.”

A dark thought crossed Otabek’s mind and he grimaced. “That is, if I qualify.”

“Beka,” Yuri frowned. “Don’t say that. It’s going to be okay.”

Otabek mumbled his disbelief under his breath, but Yuri caught it and frowned. They’d been tiptoeing around the conversation for days, and Otabek suspected it was because Yuri wasn’t trying to push him into the uncomfortable topic. Part of Otabek knew that he needed to talk about it eventually, but he appreciated the space to bring it up when he was ready.

“Let’s change the subject,” Yuri said, brightly. “How was your day?”

Otabek knew what Yuri was trying to do— and he loved him for it— but he wanted to talk about  _ it _ . He wanted to talk about everything he’d spoken about with his coach, everything he’d spent nights lying awake thinking about, going back and forth over his decisions. He felt like he owed it to Yuri not to keep him waiting, even if Yuri  _ had _ told him that he’d wait forever.

“It’s okay,” Otabek took a deep breath. “I talked to Phichit and Celestino today, um, about coming out and making our relationship public. I think… I think I’m going to do it tonight. That is, if you’re okay with it.”

Yuri nodded. “Of course I’m okay with it, Beka. If you’re sure, I’m sure.”

“Thanks.”

“So, tonight?” Yuri asked, leaning his chin on his hand with a small smile. All traces of Yuri’s caffeine-rush seemed to have evaporated like smoke as he listened attentively to Otabek. He’d always been so good at that, always meeting Otabek where he was. 

“Yeah, I think that’s best, so I don’t chicken out or anything. I just have to do it,” Otabek said. He and Yuri had come up with a plan over the past week, right after Yuri had returned to Russia. Everything was ready to go, they were just waiting on a few things.

“Um, how did the talk with your parents go?” Yuri asked, timidly.

Otabek paused. Earlier that week, he had told Yuri that he’d come out to his parents, but he hadn’t elaborated much, so Yuri hadn’t pressed.

“It’s going to be okay,” Otabek said in a low voice. Yuri nodded and was silent for a few moments, because he understood.

“Okay. Let me know if you want to talk more about it, but, um, just know that I love you,” Yuri said.

Otabek felt a warmth spread through his chest. Yuri had never been good with words but, somehow, he always said the right things when Otbaek needed. 

_ God, how did I get so lucky?  _ Otabek thought to himself, staring at Yuri’s picture on the screen in front of him.

“Thank you, Yura. You’re so good to me,” Otabek told him.

Yuri blushed and it made Otabek smile, because Yuri was really cute when he blushed. They sat in an awkward silence for a bit, but it was the kind of awkwardness that comes with young love: a little clichéd, but full of expectation and promise.

Even still, Yuri eventually grew tired of the silence.

“So… what pictures did you choose for me?” he asked with a grin. Otabek had no choice but to smile back.

“It’s a surprise,” Otabek said.

“You’re no fun, Beka.”

“I know, I truly am the worst.”

Yuri scrunched up his face at the camera. “What did you just say about my boyfriend?” he asked, and then Otabek burst out laughing with Yuri not far behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the (almost) end! Thanks for being so understanding even though I didn't post on my normal schedule for this week, but I wanted to make sure this work got the ending it deserved. Thank you for being patient, and— as always!— thanks for being readers. 
> 
> You may have recognized the chapter title this week (hint: chapter 2), but in case you didn't, [here's the song!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e6XHLcIGESY)


	11. Epilogue

**Instagram post, 3:13 am, @otabek-atin, four photos. @yuri-plisetsky is tagged.**

**Swipe to see more.**

Picture 1: Yuri and Otabek at dinner in a restaurant in Detroit. Otabek is smiling softly and Yuri is grinning broadly.

Picture 2: Blurry image with Yuri in focus in the center, walking away from the security line of the Detroit Metropolitan Airport, pulling a leopard-print suitcase behind him. There is a hand in the top corner of the screen, waving.

Picture 3: Otabek and Yuri in bed, both shirtless, with Yuri’s head resting on Otabek’s shoulder as he sleeps. The picture is dimly lit, and Otabek is looking at the camera with a muted expression on his face, but his eyes are warm.

Picture 4: A screen capture of a message written on the Notes app of Otabek’s phone. It reads:

“This isn’t my typical kind of instagram post, but Yuri Plisetsky is far from typical. I have the privilege of calling him my best friend as well as my _boyfriend_. Yes, I am gay, and yes, I am dating international figure skating legend and leopard-print conissouer Yuri Plisetsky, but who I choose to date has no effect on my career or my skating ability. My time training all over the world has taught me that all people are capable of loving everyone, and that should be something that is celebrated. Thank you for reading, and I hope you are able to respect our privacy during this time.”

**Commenting is disabled for this post.**

— 

** The Detroit Skating Club, Press Release, November 1, 2016: **

We are proud of our skater, Otabek Altin, for coming out this past month and announcing his relationship with Yuri Plisetsky. We condemn the actions of the Kazakh government for not fully supporting him during this time, as well as his sponsors which have dropped him because of his sexuality. We want to make it clear that we fully and unequivocally stand by Otabek Altin during this time, and we will continue to support him during this competition season and beyond.

Respectfully signed,

Celestino Cialdano, and the Detroit Skating Rink Board of Trustees

— 

**_Trophee de France, November 12, 2016_ **

“Our next skater is Otabek Altin, a 20-year-old skater from Kazakhstan who is currently training at the Detroit Skating Rink in America. Also from that rink here today is Phichit Chulanont, a 21-year-old skater from Thailand.”

“That’s right. Chulanot will skate fourth today.”

“Otabek Altin takes the ice… today, he’ll be skating to _Meniń Qazaqstanym_ , Kazakhstan’s national anthem.”

“He’s announced that his free skate piece is a love letter to his country. It’s a bold theme, especially since Kazakhstan has been far from supportive during this past month.”

“For those of you unaware, Otabek Altin, who had in previous seasons earned the nickname The Hero of Kazakhstan, came out as gay this season and announced his relationship with Yuri Plisetsky— another figure skater who is competing in this year’s ISU Grand Prix series. Altin’s theme for his programs this year is _Persistence_. He’s also told reporters that his program is meant to represent his struggles training in a country where figure skating isn’t as prominent, as well as his more recent success which has made him a world renowned skater and put him on an international stage.”

“He has also said that, even though his country is infamously anti-LGBTQ and has already dropepd some of his national sponsorships, that he still loves his country and skates for its people.”

“An incredibly noble thing to do, and a hard thing to at that, for a twenty-year-old. But Altin has done it all with grace.”

“It looks like his music is starting. Altin’s program starts with a quadruple salchow right off the bat, and… he nailed it! Flawless execution for his first jump of the program. Look at his command of the ice already, only 30 seconds into the program.”

“Yesterday’s short program put Altin in second, but we didn’t see as many jumps as we’ve come to expect from the Hero of Kazakhstan. This program has six quads in it, however, with three of them in the second half.”

“Now, he’s entering the first of the two step sequences he has planned for his free program. Look at his skates fly!”

“He’s keeping his expression neutral, but you can see the obvious determination on his face. He is definitely very focused on his program.”

“Next, a triple loop into a single… nice! He lands that one neatly as well.”

“We’ve yet to point out his musicality. Altin has improved greatly since last year, and you can see how he isn’t just focused on the individual counts but is really stretching the music. It’s incredible to watch, and something we haven’t seen thus far from him.”

“Ah, did he just pop a quad there… or...?”

“Altin winds up for his third quad, so quickly after the second one, and… he lands it! A perfect execution, with one arm up on the takeoff for extra difficulty points.”

“We’re entering the second half and Altin shows no signs of tiring. He’s still performing with the intense ferocity that he had at the beginning of the piece.”

“The crowd is getting riled up, they’re on the edge of their seats. They can definitely feel the emotion of this piece.”

“Next up, we have a double— Altin turns it into a quadruple toe loop! It seems that the single from earlier was just a placeholder. Is he planning to put four quads in the second half?”

“His stamina is incredible. That last jump had amazing height and distance, better than we’ve seen all season.”

“And there goes another quad-double combo… went off without a hitch. Altin begins his final step sequence with just a minute left in his free program.”

“A beautiful Ina Bauer… straight into a quadruple salchow. Such flexibility… we haven’t seen that from Altin before. He’s full of surprises today!”

“Okay, time for the penultimate quad of his program, and we can definitely see Altin is beginning to breathe hard. It’s an ambitious quad flip, which has only ever been successfully landed by Katsuki and Nikiforov in competition up until this point.”

“My god, he nails it!”

“The crowd is cheering loudly; never before has such a difficult element been even _attempted_ after such a strenuous program!”

“Altin is flying around the rink, now, it seems like his skates are barely touching the ice. Fueled by the last jump, he goes into his final quad.”

“And look at that, Altin has executed a near perfect routine and nailed all of his jumps!”

“That has to be a personal record.”

“An incredible performance from Otabek Altin, the Hero of Kazakhstan. The crowd is on their feet, they are chanting Otabek’s name.”

“Some people have even brought out rainbow flags and are waving them to show their solidarity. Truly a heartwarming sight here in Paris.”

“Altin skates off to the Kiss and Cry to await his results—”

“And who else is waiting for him other than Yuri Plisetsky, all the way from St. Petersburg!”

— 

“Yura?”

Otabek was gasping for breath and he could hardly feel his legs, but there was no mistaking it: Yuri Plisetsky was there, standing right next to Celestino with a self-satisfied smirk and his arms crossed. Otabek could see there were also tears brimming in his eyes.

He rushed over to the side of the rink, greeting his coach first. Celestino patted him on the back with a nod, and took a step to the side. Otabek nodded his thanks and then turned all of his attention to Yuri, _his_ Yuri, who had somehow pulled off an even better surprise than showing up at his front door in Detroit.

Yuri, who he’d professed his love to in front of the entire world, who mattered more than all of figure skating and their stupid rules. Yuri, who leapt into his arms and kissed in front of the entire world.

Otabek didn’t care if they were watching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a few wonderful people to thank:
> 
> To @icyhotexplosions, for beta-ing and fostering my love of YOI and screaming about otayuri with me until all hours of the night. You are the inspiration for all of my best twitter posts, and this work is my love letter to you!
> 
> To [@MinMinn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinMinn/pseuds/MinMinn), for beta-ing as well, helping me be intentional about my writing, reading the same parts over and over again until I got the "feelings" right. Thanks for all of the love, support, and hype from all the way across the ocean!
> 
> To the 1kAugust server: this is where two-thirds of my 31k came from. Thank you for all of the sprints, support, and love you all gave.
> 
> To you, the lovely readers, who left comments week after week, who encouraged me on twitter and discord, who listened to all of my crazy headcanons and joined in the fun. You all make writing so rewarding!
> 
> —
> 
> This is arguably the longest thing I've ever written, and its been in production since June. It's bittersweet bringing this work to a close, but I doubt that I'll be finished with this series or universe anytime soon. I had so much fun writing it (like I've probably said a million times before), and I love otayuri with all of my heart and will write this ship forever if I can. 
> 
> —
> 
> Say hi to me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/phichithamsters)


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